


Persistence

by phobiaDeficient (TheTriggeredHappy)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mental Health Issues (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2019-10-09 18:44:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 60,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTriggeredHappy/pseuds/phobiaDeficient
Summary: There’s something going on wth Scout. Sniper hasn’t figured out what just yet, but he intends to. He isn’t sure why.





	1. Recurring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[i don’t know why the fuck this keeps happening but here’s yet another short drabble turned short project. goddamn]]

 

Scout was shaking.

 

It occurred to Sniper all at once, and had him stalling for a few seconds, hands pausing on the smaller man’s waist, lips pausing in their trail across his freshly-bared shoulder.

 

Scout was a shaky individual, Sniper knew that already, for reasons related to both their odd little trysts and to the fact that they were coworkers. His hands were shaky sometimes, and Scout always seemed embarrassed about it when Sniper pointed it out. And he was always bouncing his leg when he was sitting anywhere for longer than thirty seconds, and when it was cold out Scout was among the first to start shivering—his uniform left him the most at the mercy of the weather, given that wearing too many layers wouldn’t really be conducive to running.

 

But it wasn’t cold, and it was a light full-body shaking rather than just hands or legs, and it had Sniper concerned enough that he paused entirely.

 

Scout stopped too, confused. “Somethin’ wrong?” he asked.

 

“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” Sniper replied, smoothing his hands down Scout’s sides, eyebrows furrowed. “You okay?”

 

The younger man shifted slightly in his lap, expression going uneasy. “I—I mean, yeah, ‘course I am,” Scout replied. “I—I’m just waitin’ a sec because you are.”

 

“You’re shaking,” Sniper deadpanned.

 

He blinked, eyes a bit wide, and his shoulders slumped inward. “Sorry,” he said hurriedly. “Uh. I’m good, I promise.”

 

“You... why are you apologizing?” Sniper asked, getting more confused by the second.

 

“I just, I don’t wanna be _weird_ ,” Scout tried. “Can we just move on, please?”

 

Sniper hesitated, but finally decided to just listen to Scout, and nodded once, leaning in to kiss him.

 

Sniper waited until Scout seemed to have relaxed again before parting his lips. Scout always tasted like the gum he chewed, which was always one of two flavors—spearmint or classic bubblegum. Today it was the classic, apparently. He rolled his hips up against Scout’s experimentally, and from the way the kiss intensified, it seemed like he enjoyed it.

 

They broke after a few moments, and Sniper moved to lathe more attention on Scout’s neck, always finding his reactions extremely endearing. Scout tipped his head back, sucking in a breath, and Sniper had to fight down a grin.

 

“Sni-ipes,” Scout tried to say, voice cracking dead in the middle of the word, fingers digging into his shoulders. The runner was rolling his hips in earnest now, struggling with the sensations overtaking him.

 

“Mm-hmm?” Sniper hummed into his skin, nipping lightly with his canines at Scout’s collarbone, making him jolt each time.

 

“I-I-I wanna, can I, I...” Scout tried, voice stalling and stumbling through his words, too distracted to get a sentence out.

 

Sniper took mercy on him, starting to kiss lightly so that he could collect his thoughts. “Mm-hmm?” he repeated, slower this time.

 

“Can I, can I suck you off?” Scout asked, voice a bit too squeaky to sound suave, but still very unintentionally cute.

 

Sniper pulled back a bit to reply. “C’mon, you’re always helpin’ me out, why not let me take care’a _you_  for once?” he asked, tone teasing.

 

Scout’s movements stalled for a few seconds, “You... you _want_  to?” he asked, sounding surprised.

 

“Yeah, a’course I do,” Sniper replied. “You’re always doin’ all the work, why not just lie back for a bit, let me take care’a things?”

 

And he hesitated for a good few seconds before he agreed to it, an oddly long moment all things considered, and it wasn’t until a few days later that Sniper would start to know why.

 

Drinking was a fact of life on the team. Soldier drank, and Engie drank, and pretty much everyone but Pyro (who they tried to keep away from heavily flammable things) and Spy (who disliked getting drunk, at least in front of others) was well-versed in alcohol. Sniper, although he also made it a hobby of his own to get buzzed or more pretty frequently, didn’t tend to drink in groups, preferring to chug a glass or two then sit outside and wait for the stars to blur together through a haze of cigarette smoke.

 

And for some reason, he’d been under the impression that Scout drank, too. But apparently not.

 

He had decided to drink with some of the others (a rarity) and it seemed that most of the team was turning up for it. The past few times he drank with the others, it was him, Demo, Soldier, and Heavy. This time, Medic showed up as well, and Engie. They hadn’t made a terrible fuss about it, just welcomed them to the table, pulled up more chairs. Spy had shown up, waved them off on the alcohol and claimed he just wanted to play cards with the rest of them, not drink. Not much fuss there, either.

 

But when Scout had shown up, there had been confusion.

 

He plopped down at the table, picked up cards—apparently that wasn’t anything new. But then Engie had reached into the cooler next to his chair, and Scout had chirped out a “Hey, toss me one’a those,” and the table had gone a bit quiet, eyebrows raising.

 

“Scout is drinking’?” Heavy rumbled, clearly surprised.

 

“Yeah,” Scout said, as if it wasn’t anything weird, but his shoulders were tense.

 

“Since when?” Engie asked.

 

“I dunno, I just... I just am,” he said, breaking eye contact and looking down at his cards, ears reddening.

 

A beat of pause, which is how long it took for Sniper to force words out of his mouth. “What’s the matter with that? He’s well of age,” Sniper murmured, and a few eyes turned to him, and he was glad that his sunglasses hid his eyes as he had to break eye contact too.

 

“He’s right, let the lad do as he pleases,” Demo agreed, gesturing between Sniper and Scout and Engie with abandon.

 

Engie shrugged and pulled out a second bottle, tossing it to Scout, who caught it easily.

 

Scout went through the bottles a bit slower than everyone else, and so by the end of the last card game, he was only as drunk as Sniper—that is to say, considerably drunk, but not as bad as some of the others.

 

Sniper used his rapidly dwindling good sense to leave the little impromptu party around the time the remaining responsible team members started getting downright hammered and arguing with more intensity than they usually allowed. He saw Scout getting off-balance as well and decided that given his smart mouth, he would probably get decked in the face if he hung around, and so pulled him away from the group.

 

And he really, really hadn’t intended for things to go the way that they did. He and Scout left and started talking as they walked, and when they got to the junction in the hallway that split between where the exit was and where the residence hall was, Scout had been in the middle of saying something, so Sniper had just decided to keep walking with him. And then they got to Scout’s room and Scout walked into his room and held the door open and Sniper had gone in like Scout gestured to do. And then Sniper was standing and Scout was sitting on his mattress and saying something, then Scout had told him it was okay for him to sit on the mattress too if he was tired of standing, which he was. Then Scout had finished his thought, and then Scout looked at him.

 

“Uh—y’know, I don’t actually drink a lot,” he’d said.

 

“So I gathered from the fuss Truckie made,” Sniper nodded.

 

“Yeah. Because—because I run my mouth, like all the time, but when I get drunk I talk even more an’, an’ I say things that I shouldn’t say, like... I mean I don’t lie, I just say true things that I don’t wanna say because they’re... weird an’ embarrassing. I mean like, I get... weird,” Scout rambled, trailing off awkwardly at a few points.

 

“That’s alcohol,” Sniper shrugged, not sure what else to say.

 

“Uh. Like—I dunno,” Scout said, stopping and starting abruptly. And Sniper had just looked at him, and Scout glanced at him once or twice, then Scout kissed him, hard.

 

If they weren’t both three steps past buzzed, and lacking so many layers of clothes, then Sniper knew Scout wouldn’t have slipped up the way he did and said what he said a little while later. But he was, and Sniper was buzzed enough that Scout probably figured that he wouldn’t remember what he said anyways.

 

Things had gotten much too hot, and Sniper was naked, and Scout was nearly-naked on his lap, a hand wrapped around Sniper’s member and jerking with intent, kissing up the vein on his neck.

 

“So—bloody good,” Sniper had breathed, grinning half to himself, head on crooked from the mix of euphoria and whiskey in his veins.

 

“Yeah?” Scout had asked, and Sniper would remember later how fragile he had sounded, how vulnerable. “Good. I-I want you to feel good, I wanna be good, I want you to...”

 

Sniper had felt a bit confused even then, not understanding. “Hmm?” he managed, voice strained.

 

“I want you to-to want me, I wanna be good enough, I wanna...” he tried, voice thin and tense, and then he twisted his wrist in a clever way that made Sniper inhale sharply, and he forgot about the words as he instead blearily chased his own completion.

 

And as the last waves rolled through him following a fairly intense orgasm, he processed Scout finishing himself off with a quiet gasp and whine. And he would wake up in the morning in Scout’s bed and remember what he said and he would suddenly feel so very worried.

 

He processed that the space next to him, while still warm, was unoccupied. Sniper’s eyes blinked open, head turned on the pillow beneath his skull.

 

Scout was awake, was over by his full-length mirror trying to smooth down his unruly hair. He had boxers on now, and a sweater, probably to fight off the cold that had permeated the room overnight. Sniper wondered how early it was for a few moments before remembering that it was a Sunday, and they weren’t required to be anywhere for a good while. He hadn’t ever seen Scout in anything other than the uniform, and the sweater was a pleasant color.

 

Sniper stretched out his arms over his head, and he grunted in discomfort as some of his joints popped. That was enough to alert Scout to the fact that he was awake, and Scout turned quickly.

 

“Oh, uh, mornin’,” Scout said, clearly more awake and alert than Sniper was. He didn’t look like he had an awful hangover, at least—they were lucky that they both had the foresight to drink water the night prior, and that there was a little light coming in through the window so the awful overhead wasn’t needed, and that after nearly dying every day during their jobs they’d built up a bit of a pain tolerance.

 

“What are you doin’ up already?” Sniper asked curiously.

 

“Uh. I put clothes on, it was cold,” Scout said, tone quieter, more sheepish than normal, averting his gaze. It was then that Sniper realized he himself was still naked, the blankets having fallen down towards his waist with his movement.

 

“Well get back over here before I get cold, too,” Sniper said, pulling the blanket back up over his shoulders.

 

Scout shifted on his feet, looked confused for a minute. “Uh. What do you mean?” he finally asked.

 

“C’mere, lie back down. It’s Sunday, we’ve nowhere to be. Let’s be lazy for a while,” Sniper shrugged.

 

Scout hesitated, but finally he moved over, hopping over Sniper to get situated between him and the wall where he’d been previously. The bed was a little bit cramped, and Scout kept shifting, trying to limit the amount of contact between them.

 

“I won’t bloody _bite_ ,” Sniper murmured, slinging an arm around him and pulling him to lay half on top of him instead of shoulder-to-shoulder.

 

“I—this is okay?” Scout asked, just a bit twitchy.

 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Sniper said, holding him snugly, and finally, finally, Scout started to relax, shifting to get a bit more comfortable and lying against Sniper.

 

“...Sorry, I just... I didn’t wanna be like. Clingy,” he explained, voice a murmur.

 

“Well, I dunno about clingy,” Sniper murmured, “I’d call this more cuddly than anythin’ else.”

 

“But it’s okay?”

 

“It’s nice, is what it is,” Sniper said, and it was true.

 

They fell into a silence, which was strange, considering it was Scout.

 

“Why are you so scared of me?” Sniper finally asked, not accusatory, just curious.

 

“I’m not,” Scout said quickly, a little too loudly.

 

“You have a funny way of showin’ it, then,” Sniper said, tone exactly teasing enough to not sound mean.

 

Scout didn’t move, didn’t speak for a few moments. Then he lifted his head slightly, turned it to look up at Sniper. “I just... I wanna...” he tried, fighting with the words in his mouth.

 

“Be good enough?” Sniper finally said, and Scout’s eyes went slightly wider, his breath stopping.

 

“...Why did you say that?” he half-choked.

 

“That’s what you said. Last night.” Sniper drew little loops with his index finger on Scout’s side, just below his ribcage. “You’re worried about being good enough?”

 

Scout didn’t answer that, didn’t seem to know how to.

 

Sniper sighed, letting his head fall back on the pillow. “You know you’re... pretty good, right?” Sniper finally asked. “You don’t need to impress me.”

 

Scout huffed. “Whatever.”

 

“Nah, I’m serious,” Sniper pushed, shifting slightly to get a bit more comfortable. “You know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t like you at least a _little_ , right?”

 

“I dunno,” Scout said, and Sniper wasn’t sure which part it was directed at. Quiet fell for a little bit. “I kinda wanted to...”

 

Sniper waited for the rest of the sentence, but it didn’t come. “What?” he prodded. “Say it.”

 

“I don’t wanna be weird,” Scout muttered in protest.

 

“I live in a van,” Sniper said flatly. “Say it.”

 

“I kinda wanted to... like, a second ago when you said... just. So you don’t hate me?”

 

“Why would I be here if I hated you?” Sniper asked in deadpan.

 

“Okay. So you... like me?” There was little confidence in the way he said it.

 

“Yeah. Thought that was clear.”

 

“But—“ he started to say, but Scout cut himself off, instead just chewing on his lip. That was a nervous tic of his, the marksman had noticed, on and off the field. When he was nervous, or thinking, or just getting in his own head, he would gnaw at his bottom lip. It led to an interesting sensation when kissing when the otherwise smooth skin was always at least slightly chewed-upon (although admittedly, Sniper quite enjoyed chewing Scout’s lip too). Either way, Sniper knew how to recognize a nervous tic, and relented.

 

“Mate. I’m not gonna force you to say it, but christ’s sakes, I really do promise that I won’t... I dunno, laugh, or get mad, or do whatever bad thing you think I’m gonna do. Really, I won’t.”

 

Scout didn’t reply for a good while. Sniper assumed the conversation was over, and closed his eyes, letting himself doze off.

 

“I’ll tell you later,” Scout murmured against his chest, and he didn’t say the word ‘promise’, but Sniper could hear it in his tone. He just nodded, and when he woke up again later, Scout was still there.

 

* * *

 

 

Around the rest of the team, they didn’t act any different, besides maybe talking a little bit more. Sniper understood why—being ‘involved’ with your co-workers was generally frowned upon in normal jobs, and as mercenaries it would make sense to be even more so. Sniper wasn’t positive what the policy was in Mann Co. for dating and the like, and he’d prefer to not get in trouble, so he didn’t question it.

 

Outside of them covertly meeting up occasionally in the evenings, either in Sniper’s place for privacy or Scout’s for a slightly larger bed, they didn’t really do anything that would suggest them being in a real relationship. Had never really had the conversation on it, and it seemed like they were mostly just... friends with benefits, maybe. Coworkers with benefits would probably fit better, even, since they hardly hung out anyways. And Sniper was okay with that, since he was still learning how to be around other people for longer periods of time, and didn’t think he could handle spending _too_  much time around anyone else. And Scout seemed... nervous, about anything that even _approached_  emotional connection. That was just what Sniper was getting out of the awkward, stilted reactions to his questions about Scout’s wellbeing.

 

He left it alone, since it seemed like that’s what Scout wanted him to do, and he was a grown man anyways, didn’t need Sniper to babysit him or anything.

 

That didn’t really make Sniper worry less, but it made him worry more quietly. Then Scout had to go and push even just a little further.

 

One rule that had quickly been established, breathlessly between kisses and by context clues, was that Scout didn’t want either of them to leave marks in the wake of their encounters. As far as Scout was concerned, it seemed like he would most prefer there be little evidence that anything went down. And that made sense, considering how the team at large would jump on any opportunity to make fun of each other (not usually in a mean-spirited way) even if they managed to keep from piecing together who in particular had placed the marks. In the past, Sniper had always been known with partners as being a bit bitey, but it was easy enough to remember. No hickies, no nails.

 

Then Scout, all at once in the midst of riding Sniper, murmured it.

 

“Bite me.” A request, a confession, a plead (especially considering how breathless he sounded just then). Sniper tilted his head backwards from its place kissing along Scout’s shoulder, looked up at him, sure that he’d heard wrong, but there was just enough nervousness there in his gaze that Sniper realized that his ears weren’t deceiving him.

 

“Huh?” Sniper asked, a bit confused at the suddenness of it all.

 

“Just... bite me,” Scout tried again, more sheepish this time, and the steady roll of his hips slowed with that sheepishness.

 

“The team’ll see,” Sniper tried through the haze of his lust-addled brain.

 

“Then do it below where my collar goes,” Scout said, and moved a trembling hand from its place steadying himself against Sniper’s chest, shifting it up to the place where his neck met his shoulder. “Like, down here.” Nails scratching over the area, Scout’s gaze locked off just to one side, face red. “Do it.”

 

Sniper wanted to hesitate, to ask more questions, to be sure that this wasn’t something Scout would regret later. Instead he gave into the much stronger force of want in his head and gut and just moved his mouth to the shoulder Scout had directed him to, nosing aside his hand and pressing first a gentle kiss into skin. Scout’s movements faltered with a groan when Sniper started nipping and sucking at the patch of skin with intent, starting on what would surely bloom into a bright mark later.

 

“Shit,” Scout breathed, head falling just to one side to allow Sniper further room. “Shit, keep—keep doin’ that.”

 

Sniper did, and Scout made more of those lovely noises that he always tried so hard to hold back, the kind that Sniper particularly liked to hear.

 

Later, when Scout was in the midst of cleaning up (the task made both easier and harder by the fact that they’d been in his room instead of the camper), he’d paused for a good long minute at his mirror. Somewhere in the midst of sweeping his sweaty hair from his face, he’d apparently gotten lost in staring at something. Sniper, who was lounging and letting Scout do the cleanup work for once (at Scout’s request), shifted slightly to try and figure it out, even if he already had a pretty good idea in the back of his mind.

 

Sure enough, there in the reflection of the mirror he could see it, Scout’s fingers were drifting just above where that mark Sniper left was, and he had a peculiar expression on. Pondering. Just a bit concerned. It settled a cold weight in Sniper’s gut.

 

Then Scout glanced up, and caught Sniper’s eye, and with that he was breaking eye contact, moving to continue cleanup.

 

“You regret asking me to leave a mark,” Sniper said, not a question.

 

“No, no, I... that’s not it,” Scout said, half a stammer, still not making eye contact. “Don’t worry about it.”

 

A few beats of pause. “Mate, you gotta tell me if it’s okay or not so I can know whether you’d want me to do it again,” Sniper finally managed, words just barely making it out of his mouth in the right order.

 

“I dunno,” Scout said, still not looking at him as he moved to get their clothes sorted. He looked around for a few seconds with an amount of confusion before glancing down at himself and apparently remembering that he still had his socks on. Hesitation before he peeled them off, leaving him just in a clean, freshly-donned pair of briefs, and tossed them in his laundry. One made it in neatly, the other barely.

 

“You don’t know?” Sniper repeated.

 

“I dunno,” Scout confirmed, face reddening. “I’ll... I’ll tell you later.”

 

Sniper realized that would probably be the best answer he was getting, and settled back again, closing his eyes.

 

“It’s late,” Sniper murmured. “But I could head back to sleep in my own place if you wanted.”

 

Silence. Sniper opened his eyes again after a minute to see if Scout had somehow not heard him, but Scout was wearing what seemed to be a pained expression.

 

“If you don’t wanna stay, you don’t have to,” he said, turning away.

 

“It’s just that I’ve been loitering a lot in your space lately, aye? I don’t wanna impose, make you uncomfortable,” Sniper said, deciding to just be outright with it. “Staying would be easier, but it’s your room.”

 

Scout was quiet, which was a bit worrying. He’d been fidgeting with Sniper’s shirt for almost a full minute.

 

“You don’t gotta pretend you wanna be here,” Scout murmured.

 

Sniper wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “What?” he asked.

 

“You don’t gotta like... spare my feelings or whatever,” Scout elaborated. He’d started buttoning the shirt up. “I don’t care. It’s not a big deal.”

 

Sniper frowned, sitting up now. “Mate, I—“

 

“Like, you can just be honest, I’m not a wimp or whatever, I can handle it,” Scout said,movements jerky. “If you don’t wanna stick around after you don’t need to, you don’t have to be polite if you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter to me.”

 

“Mate, what do _you_  want me to do?” Sniper asked outright.

 

Scout didn’t reply. He’d moved to start unbuttoning the shirt again. The mark was slowly blooming, and Sniper realized that it would be just under his collar, just barely.

 

“Do you want me to leave?” Sniper asked next, leaning and trying to catch Scout’s eye. It wasn’t working. “If you want me to go, I’ll go. Otherwise, I’d like to stay. But I don’t wanna stay if you don’t want me here.”

 

That’s just how Sniper was raised. For things like this, it was just best to have the cards on the table. And, to be fair, he didn’t particularly want to be on Scout’s bad side.

 

Scout was chewing his lip again. He glanced at Sniper for a second, and his gaze caught on Sniper’s face somewhere. A few seconds.

 

“I dunno,” Scout finally said, and there was something in his expression, something just a little bit... “I just, I dunno what I want.”

 

Sniper looked at him, calculating, thinking. Then he began to stand up. “Then I’ll go,” he said with finality.

 

Scout’s head whipped around, eyes a bit wide. “You—you don’t have to, it’s, that’s not a no,” he said with a fidget.

 

“It’s not a yes, neither,” Sniper said, pulling on his jeans.

 

Scout fidgeted again, glancing away, guilt clear on his expression. Sniper pulled on boots, threw his button-up on, forgoing his undershirt and socks. The walk to his camper wouldn’t be that far anyways. Silence continued as Sniper pulled his boots on.

 

“Hey,” he said before he walked to the door. Scout glanced at him, conflicting emotions still crossing his face, furrowing his eyebrows together. They unfurrowed, replaced by surprise, as Sniper placed a lingering kiss on his cheek. “See you tomorrow, aye?” he asked, a smile quirking his lips.

 

Scout visibly bit back his own smile, settling for a single nod, and Sniper left.

 

* * *

 

 

The first real... _scare_ , happened not long after that.

 

Things had been a bit weird, maybe not _because_  of the odd talk they’d had, but certainly in conjunction. More short, charged conversations were ended with Scout muttering the now-familiar phrase “I’ll tell you later”. More hesitant moves made during the more heated moments of their time together. Sniper learned that Scout liked hands in his hair, and being bitten, and some rough treatment, and being made just a bit desperate. Scout learned that Sniper liked dirty talk (both giving and receiving), and when his partner made noise, and he sometimes just liked to look at him for a bit, and when Scout wore his long socks. Sniper didn’t even know that last part himself, until Scout pointed it out to him.

 

There didn’t seem to be much that Scout wasn’t into, really. And on one hand, Sniper was aware that the two of them hadn’t really branched out on the sort of things they did. Most often they would tug each other off, maybe grinding their hips together, sometimes (if they had the time and energy) going so far as to sucking each other off. There had only been a few times when they’d gone the “full” distance, and that seemed to be about the extent of what they needed to do to have an enjoyable evening. Scout hadn’t asked for much, just seemed to enjoy whatever he could get, as it were. On the other hand... it wasn’t like they’d ever had a real sit-down conversation. The closest thing they did was usually when they were both just about naked anyways and in a bit of a rush.

 

So maybe Sniper should’ve thought about things a bit more, admittedly. Because maybe it should’ve occurred to him that he didn’t really have a good grasp on Scout’s nonverbal cues, and that he might not be able to read when he wasn’t into something. Maybe he should’ve considered that. But, unfortunately, he assumed that if Scout had any issues with something, he would’ve brought it up already.

 

He was... incorrect.

 

Another thing Scout had seemed to like a bit was Sniper showing off his strength. He was certainly no Soldier or Demo or Heavy (and _certainly_  not a “proper Australian”, some part of him said bitterly, and was silenced again), but he did have a bit of upper-body strength from keeping in shape in regards to melee combat. Swinging a knife hard enough to hurt someone took an amount of effort outside of their daily squabbles with the other team, and he tried to keep in form so that he could pick up archery again when the fancy struck him. And Scout wasn’t particularly heavy (couldn’t be, with his job being mobility), so Sniper could lift him a bit, move and guide him without much difficulty.

 

Scout seemed to enjoy Sniper lifting him up, seemed to enjoy being guided onto his lap.

 

But there were some times, it seemed, when Scout was distinctly not okay with Sniper showing off his strength.

 

Scout was beneath Sniper, and was bare except for his underwear and socks (one of which had gotten scrunched around his ankle, an oddly cute image that continued to linger in Sniper’s mind). Sniper was down to his jeans, and was enjoying himself thoroughly with laying a series of hickies across Scout’s chest.

 

“Fuck...” Scout breathed, chest moving with his quick breath and presenting a bit of a challenge for Sniper to keep up with. “You—you’re gonna need to, move this along, y’know.”

 

Sniper hummed in question at a time that just so happened to align with him sealing his mouth over one of Scout’s nipples, and Scout jolted, hands scrabbling at the sheets.

 

“Fuck, at least, fuckin’ take my shorts off, here,” Scout managed.

 

“Ready to pop already?” Sniper asked lowly, teasingly, grinning up at him.

 

“Fuckin’ “already”—? You’ve been doing that for, like—“ Scout looked over to the digital clock on the counter next to the coffee maker, digits brighter in the darkness of Sniper’s camper. “I dunno, like, half an hour?”

 

Sniper blinked. “Oh.”

 

“Jesus christ, “Oh”, he says _”Oh”_ , you—“ Scout bopped him on the shoulder, not hard enough to really hurt, and something in his expression was playful enough that Sniper figured he probably wasn’t actually mad. “Well _anyways_ , what’s the plan here, if edging me until I ruin this underwear isn’t it?”

 

Sniper thought for a moment, and decided now was an alright time to bring this up. “Actually, I sorta figured...” he started, and Scout half frowned. “Well, so far if we ever have someone on top, it’s been me. How would you feel about switchin’ it around?”

 

Scout’s eyes widened minutely, and he sat up on his elbows abruptly. “Wait, seriously?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Like... wait, really? You want to?” Scout asked again, still disbelieving, searching Sniper’s face for any hint of humor or malice.

 

“Yeah. Is it really that unexpected?” Sniper asked, frowning.

 

“I mean...” Scout said, suddenly self-conscious, face starting to go red. “I just, I haven’t...”

 

Sniper huffed. “Oh, have people done the thing where they assume just because you’re not some massive hulking bloke with a chest like a rug and a mean streak a kilo wide, you’re completely incapable of being a top? Or that just because you have a certain look or tone to you and don’t shove your way through every crowd and talk over everyone else constantly, you can’t be a top? Or just outright forgotten that people don’t have to be one or the other and that verses exist and are in fact fairly normal?”

 

Scout blinked. “Uh. Yeah, actually. How’d you...?”

 

“You’re talkin’ to the scrawniest twink in Australia, mate. I’ve heard all that before.” Sniper leaned to grab for the bottle of lube, noting that he’d need to open up the spare sometime soon (having no doubt in his mind that Scout would bumble his way through the remainder of the bottle in trying to open up Sniper). “So that a yes? You wanna try?”

 

“Hell yeah!” Scout said, sitting up fully.

 

Scout was indeed quite a bit bumbly in his attempts at prepping Sniper, and had needed a fair bit of guidance from the older man, who was laid out and comfortable while Scout figured out how best to go about things. But he got to the point eventually where Sniper figured he would be fine, and waved off any further reservations. Sniper had certainly been in worse situations than being just a bit underprepared, back when he was younger and less experienced, and with far more brutal and stupid men than the Scout, who was...

 

Apparently very much struggling not to jump out of his own skin, if his expression said anything.

 

“Mate, you alright?” Sniper asked through the haze that the satisfactory attempt at finger-fucking foreplay had left him in, catching the distinctly nervous look on Scout’s face.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Scout said, voice not quite matching his expression, eyes not quite meeting his own as he wiped his hand off on a spare towel.

 

Sniper glanced him up and down briefly, noted his tension. “Think you’d like it if I was on my front with you behind me?” Sniper asked then.

 

Scout blinked. “Uh...” he tried. “I mean, but then I... then what if I’m messin’ it up and I like, don’t realize it?”

 

“How about... you on your back, then? Me facing you?” Sniper suggested, palming at his own very confused prick. “Then maybe if we try this again, you’ll have a better idea how I like things, if I’m leading the way this first time.”

 

Scout nodded, looking a little relieved, and they set about the complicated task that was switching places on the bed very much not made for this sort of thing.

 

Minutes later, Scout was below Sniper and gasping, head tilted back as Sniper tried his best to keep up a steady rhythm. Admittedly, some part of Sniper had missed this sort of thing, as toys or his own fingers didn’t quite match up. In particular he always missed how _hot_  everything felt. And the feeling of someone else rocking along, groaning out words of praise...

 

He planted his hands on Scout’s thighs behind him, trying to find good leverage, the squeak of the thin mattress’s springs too loud in his own ears. Scout tried to brace his feet to buck up into Sniper, experimental.

 

“Harder,” Sniper managed between pants, voice gone breathy and reedy.

 

Scout complied, bucking again, the force of his well-trained legs behind this thrust, and Sniper very nearly lost balance, eyes trying to roll back.

 

“Fuck, that’s it,” Sniper encouraged, and Scout groaned. Sniper’s hands on Scout’s thighs weren’t helping. He moved them to the mattress. The bend was awkward, and tilted his hips in a way that made the friction of the next thrust feel infinitely less satisfying.

 

“God, you feel good,” Scout gasped, reaching up and carding fingers through Sniper’s hair to brush wayward locks from his face, fallen out of place. His thrusts were powerful and unrelenting, rolling up and following Sniper’s rhythm.

 

Sniper grinned down at him, head falling forward and eyes dropping closed. He shifted his hands again, this time resting heavily on Scout’s shoulders, and redoubled his rhythm.

 

That seemed to throw off Scout for a good few beats, then Scout rolled forward a bit. Sniper added a bit more pressure to help get leverage, gripping harder and pushing down.

 

When he opened his eyes a few beats later, Scout’s were wide, mouth slightly open.

 

His hips slowed. “Mate?” he asked between harsh breaths, blinking hard to try and center himself. He suddenly processed how every muscle in Scout’s body seemed to have gone taut and frozen there.

 

Scout released a shaky breath, and then he was pushing against Sniper’s hands, pulling almost frantically at Sniper’s wrists. Sniper released him right away, brow furrowing in confusion at the look of—of _panic_  on Scout’s face, the quickness of his breath. He pulled back further, wincing at the feeling of disconnecting from Scout, biting back a groan.

 

By the time he’d centered himself a bit, Scout had curled inward, and that panic hadn’t faded yet, and the concern mounted higher, settling cold in Sniper’s veins.

 

“Mate, what’s wrong? What happened?” Sniper asked, almost extending his hand toward Scout, but second-guessing at the last moment and deciding against it.

 

“It’s—I just—“ Scout tried, voice stalling on syllables, looking increasingly frantic with every beat that passed without him managing to speak right. “It’s. It’s stupid.” A pause, Scout attempting a deep breath, but it shook. “I’m sorry,” he blurted.

 

“Oi, don’t need to apologize,” Sniper assured quickly, trying to play back through his mind what could’ve happened to do this to Scout so suddenly. His still-present hard-on and the slickness that dripped down his thighs were a pretty big distraction, but finally he figured it out, and he felt like a pit had been dropped into his stomach, and his heart promptly dropped into the pit. “Was it—because I pinned you?” he asked.

 

Scout took a quick breath, and nodded, still not meeting Sniper’s eyes, instead glancing at the entrance and windows of the camper feverently.

 

Sniper—very slowly and lightly—laid a hand on Scout’s knee where it was pulled up close to his body. Scout still jumped regardless. “Hey. C’mon, you’re safe,” he said, voice dropped to try and be soothing. “Talk to me.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Scout repeated, breath shaking still. “Just...” He reached out to Sniper, smoothing a hand down his arm and leaning in as if to kiss him.

 

The distinct tremble in that hand made Sniper pull back a fraction. “Nope, no way,” he said, resolute. “Not when you’re all shaken up.”

 

“Wh... what do you mean?” Scout asked, obviously disoriented by all of this.

 

“I think this’ll have to wait for another time,” Sniper said, managing to mask his own disappointment. “If you wanna try it again at all. Next time, you can be properly in charge, aye? But I... I think we’re just about done with this for now.”

 

“But...” Scout said, glancing down at Sniper’s still-hard (extremely confused) cock.

 

“I can finish myself off,” Sniper said, waving off the obvious guilt. “The question is, do you want me to get you off or not? I owe you for ruining this by being an oblivious twat.”

 

Scout was still frowning. “I mean...” he said, and glanced down at his own lap, where he was half-hard despite the scare (biology being strange as it was). “I... I guess, if you want.”

 

“I do want,” Sniper said, and allowed himself a smile. “Now, second question. Are you opposed to me doin’ something else new?”

 

* * *

 

 

Sniper indeed ended up trying something new—eating out Scout slow and sloppy, the younger man bent with his ass in the air, biting the pillow to muffle himself as he was lost in the sensations. Sniper managed to get Scout off twice, the other man’s refractory period being a particularly... youthful one, and got himself off in the pause between the second and third. The third, and last, left Scout trembling and jelly-like, guileless and oversensitive, and Sniper was left with a pleasant warmth in his gut and an ache in his jaw. Sniper was careful to arrange them so Scout was laying atop his chest, no part of him trapped under Sniper.

 

“But what about...” Scout still murmured, finding a few working cells left in his skull despite Sniper’s best attempts at making him cum his brains out, stroking a hand down Sniper’s side past his ribs.

 

Sniper caught that hand, twining their fingers together, a bit pleased with himself when he noticed that it wasn’t shaking. “I took care’a myself there between ruining you,” he said, voice a bit teasing. “Brushed my teeth, too. And cleaned us up. You were out for a good minute after that last one.”

 

Scout blinked down at him slowly, chin on Sniper’s sternum. It hurt just a bit, bone against bone, but Sniper didn’t mind much. “I was?”

 

“Mm-hmm.” Sniper drew a slow circle on Scout’s shoulder with his thumb, and Scout seemed to be having an amount of difficulty keeping his eyes open. “Downright precious like this, you are.”

 

That made Scout smile. “Shuttup,” he murmured for pride’s sake regardless.

 

Sniper drew another few circles. “So... think you’re feelin’ alright to explain what exactly had you so panicked?” he finally asked.

 

Scout huffed out a breath, squeezing his eyes shut tightly for a few seconds. “It’s dumb,” he muttered. “Just... for a second there I wasn’t sure like...” Another pause. “It’s—it’s dumb, seriously.”

 

“Tell me anyways,” Sniper said with the smallest shrug.

 

Scout blinked slowly at him, turning his head so it was his cheek pressed against Sniper’s chest to finally break eye contact. “I dunno. There was just a second where I didn’t know if I... like, I wasn’t sure if I could... get away, if I had to.”

 

Sniper felt humor dropping away. “That... somethin’ you worry about... _often_ , or...?” he asked carefully.

 

Scout squeezed his eyes shut again. “I mean... no. Yes. Sort of?” A huff of breath, felt more from the shift of Scout’s weight than from the air on Sniper’s chest. “I mean, I think about that pretty often in, y’know, our day job, an’ it’s hard to flip the switch on that, to stop thinkin’ about that stuff. But... usually I shrug it off because...”

 

Sniper took the few seconds of silence to try and push sleep away a bit, focusing on the slants of light thrown across the ceiling by some reflection of light coming from outside.

 

“...I ignore it since I... figure you wouldn’t hurt me. Because... because I trust you.” Sniper tilted his head to look at Scout, eyebrows rising slightly. Scout had squeezed his eyes closed even tighter. “Which is probably a bad idea, like, I don’t—I barely even fuckin’ know you. I shouldn’t trust you. It’s a bad idea.”

 

Sniper was actually rather surprised to find that that stung. He really hadn’t expected it to, in particular because Scout had a good point—they were mercenaries. Hired killers. They might not be active agents in espionage like _some_  of their teammates, but their job descriptions left them far from trustworthy.

 

“Do you... _want_  to?” Sniper asked carefully. Scout hummed in question. “Know me, I mean. I... there’s a fair amount that I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to talk about, but...”

 

Scout looked at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher.

 

“Just a thought,” he said, a mite defensively, tilting his head back towards the ceiling.

 

Silence for a while, filled by the sound of various nocturnal creatures from outside. That was one reason Sniper preferred to park out so far from the base—otherwise, he couldn’t hear those sounds as much. It was just something he was used to.

 

“I’d like that,” Scout murmured finally, interrupting Sniper’s train of thought, and that was the last thing either of them said before they fell asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[this isn’t the end—i’m splitting this into two or three parts, depends on whether i end up worddumping much more or taking more sidetracks. hopefully it’ll be just two parts]]


	2. Lingering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[this fic wasnt supposed to be this long and im mad abt it]]

 

“Hey, Snipes.”

 

Some part of Sniper wondered when exactly Scout started using that nickname. He couldn’t particularly remember. “Yeah?” he asked, pushing his shades up his nose where they’d started to slide down.

 

Scout had clearly run directly to the van from the base (his only method of transportation—he seemed to hate walking) but didn’t look terribly out of breath, and cast his eyes over the fire pit Sniper was stocking for a few seconds before shaking off the distraction. “Uh, tomorrow I’m hitching a ride with Hardhat to go into town, and I was wondering if you’d wanna go along,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 

Sniper tilted his head slightly. “Why’re you headed to town?” he asked.

 

Scout tugged at his hat, eyes locked off to one side. “Uh. Well, I go along sometimes because I get kinda stir-crazy—small base, y’know?—but also I was, uh.” He chewed his lip for a second. “Uh, y’know. Gonna get some like, condoms an’ stuff.”

 

Sniper’s eyebrows rose. “...Plannin’ on shaggin’ some sheila?” he asked, keeping his voice level.

 

Scout blinked at him, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. “Some sh...? Oh—oh, sheila, a girl! Oh, no! No no no, that’s not—no, I just—“ Scout’s face was bright red and his eyes were wide, and Sniper’s eyebrows rose further. “I just figured, like, I dunno, maybe it’d help with cleanup or something, y’know? I—yeah, no, I wouldn’t just—“ Sniper’s eyebrows were furrowing now, and Scout stammered a few more disjointed syllables before falling into silence, collecting himself enough to try words. “I just—no, it was just an idea. I’m not... I mean, hell, not really any, uh, any girls out here. Not that I’d—if there _were_ , I—“

 

“Thought you were into girls s’well as blokes,” Sniper said, growing more confused with each passing moment.

 

“I mean I _am_ , I just—like, I wouldn’t wanna date someone else right now, y’know? I mean, not that you and me are dating! I don’t know if—and we—“

 

Sniper just watched as he clearly tried not to just fold in on himself, the marksman just trying to keep up with and process whatever Scout was trying to talk about, going mile-a-minute like he was.

 

Finally, Scout just pulled the brim of his cap down to cover as much of his face as he could. “Whatever, me an’ Hardhat are leavin’ at noon tomorrow if you wanna go,” he said, voice squeaky, and ran off again, at a considerably higher speed than he’d initially approached at.

 

Sniper, for a few seconds, considered trying to parse out what precisely the hell just happened. He decided against it, instead heading into the camper to sort through and figure out what dinner would be. As he did so, he realized he was indeed due for a bit of shopping.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Scout seemed genuinely surprised when Sniper strolled into the garage a few minutes before noon. Engie looked equally surprised.

 

“Well, Stretch, didn’t reckon you’d really turn up,” Engie drawled, appraising him cheerfully. “Scooter told me he invited you, but I didn’t think you’d really need to go into town with that van’a yours, figured you must run errands on your own.”

 

“Usually do,” Sniper confirmed, and Scout ducked his head, scuffing his feet on the concrete, fighting with some kind of expression. “But there’s no use in us both driving all that way there when we can carpool, aye?”

 

“Right,” Engie nodded, smiling. “Well, I’m also gonna be shuttlin’ over our good Demoman, so that means we’ll need two folks up front includin’ the driver, and two folks sittin’ in the back.”

 

“I wanna drive,” Scout said immediately.

 

“You are absolutely not allowed to drive,” Engie replied immediately. Scout pouted. “Anyways, I’ve set up the bed with seatbelts an’ the like, so it’s perfectly safe and comfortable back there. So, any preferences on between the front or back?”

 

“Back,” Scout said in the same moment Sniper did, and they glanced at each other, a bit surprised.

 

“Alrighty, then us old men will be up front in the cab,” Engie said, looking towards the door as Demo entered the room. “It’ll be about an hour’s drive, so make you you’ve all got everything you need, because we won’t be turnin’ back.”

 

Scout slung his bag off of his back and messed with the contents for a few moments. Sniper just double-checked the pocket of his vest. “Where are we headed to? What town?” he asked.

 

“Forepeak,” Demo said. “Nearest town where none of us lot have been banned from anywhere.”

 

Sniper thought for a few moments to place the direction and distance in his mind, to try and remember what all was in the town.

 

“It’s got a theater, three resturaunts, two bars, a bakery, post office, grocery store, general store, pharmacy, and a few specialty shops, and everywhere else is closed on Sundays,” Scout rattled off, ticking away on his fingers. “They’ve also got a police force an’ courthouse an’ historical center an’ stuff, but I’ve never been in any of those places.”

 

“Yet,” Demo chimed, shooting Scout a grin before he ducked into the passenger seat.

 

“Yet,” Scout agreed, hopping up into the bed of the truck.

 

“How’d you remember all that?” Sniper asked, going about getting into the back in his own significantly less youthful way.

 

“I dunno,” Scout shrugged. “I’m just good with directions.”

 

Scout showed Sniper how to do the seatbelts, having apparently been stowed in the back on multiple occasions previously. He then took off his hat as the engine revved up, stowing it beneath his knees. Sniper followed suit, and understood why as they drove out to a main road, backwind picking up dramatically and threatening to carry away his shades. He pushed them further up his nose.

 

Scout started fidgeting within two minutes of setting out. Sniper could sense it in his periphery. He messed with his dog tags, fiddled with his seatbelt, scraped the heel of his shoe on some of the mud and dust caked onto the floor and dislodging it. He didn’t speak.

 

Sniper grew tired of the tension sitting in the air and turned his head to look over at Scout, who glanced away, caught staring. “So how many times have you been to this town?” he asked, voice raised to be heard over the truck and the wind.

 

Scout didn’t make eye contact, still very obviously embarrassed. Scout really seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve much of the time, Sniper thought to himself, which made it all the more difficult to tell when he was really hiding something or avoiding a conversation. “Uh, four times,” Scout said. “I went once ages ago by myself, back before the buddy system rule.”

 

“Buddy system rule?” Sniper asked, eyebrows furrowing.

 

“Yeah, that uh, if any of us have gotten in trouble in the past six months, we’re not allowed off-base by ourselves,” Scout said.

 

“What’d you do?” Sniper asked next, allowed humor into his tone.

 

“Punched a guy in the mouth,” Scout shrugged.

 

Sniper took a moment to process that, then nodded. “Fair enough.”

 

“Anyways, uh, all the other times I tagged along with Engie, since he’s almost always the one doing supply runs. Usually he’s just picking up parts and stuff that people have put on the list, but he also does just groceries and whatever since he’s already headed to town and everyone knows the lady on the intercom would put us on shitty rations in a goddamn heartbeat.”

 

Sniper nodded. “Any particular reason you like heading into town so much?” he asked.

 

“Somethin’ to do,” Scout answered without hesitating. “And, uh, for... stuff like, that I don’t wanna write on the list where anyone could see it.”

 

“Like, er...” Sniper trailed, and Scout glanced at the window into the cab.

 

“...Yeah.”

 

It was a touch awkward for a few seconds, Sniper could tell, before he managed to think of a change of subject.

 

“So there’s... a movie theater?” Sniper asked. “Been ages since I’ve watched a movie.”

 

“What, couple years?” Scout asked.

 

“Since I was a teen, more like,” Sniper corrected. “I’ve no idea what the new movies are.”

 

Scout laughed. “Well, neither does the theater, all they play is old movies,” he said. “Like, ‘The Fugitive Kind’, ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’—stuff like that. I don’t think they even _have_  a color projector yet, it’s ridiculous.”

 

“You like movies, then?” Sniper asked. It felt... odd, to be asking this type of question after so long of having known Scout in a significantly more intimate manner. How long had they even been ‘involved’? A few months? Sniper wasn’t entirely sure—he wasn’t very good at keeping track of time. He also wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t completely botching this interaction.

 

“Movies are great, man!” Scout said, a good bit of enthusiasm in his tone. “I love movies!”

 

“Well, if I haven’t seen a movie in a decade, what all have I missed?” Sniper asked, hoping that if he worded the question the right way, it might—

 

Bullseye. Scout’s eyes lit up. “Aw, man, okay, first of all, ever heard of Julie Andrews—?” And just like that, they were off to the races. Sniper had found out relatively quickly that sometimes, if he asked the right question, he could get Scout to start just _talking_ , going off on some tangent and not stopping for ten, twenty, thirty minutes. He found it... entertaining. Endearing, maybe. Scout didn’t do it often when they were ‘hanging out’, either _preoccupied_  or tired and unfocused or ashamed of how he just spilled information like a broken fountain. Admittedly, Sniper couldn’t always follow along very well with what Scout was saying, as he talked quickly and his accent was a bit hard to keep up with and he referenced a lot of things Sniper outright didn’t know about, but at the very least Scout was...

 

Well, he was a funny guy. There were certainly worse people to be secretly and frequently having sex with.

 

They arrived in town in the middle of Scout explaining the plot to Mary Poppins, about halfway through him talking about the scene where apparently she went on some kind of date with the chimney sweep—shocking, Sniper commented, but Scout insisted it was actually pretty sweet.

 

Engie bore witness to Scout’s rambling for a few seconds with a grin before he interrupted. “Scooter, give the man a chance to breathe,” he joked, and Scout cut himself off, pouting a little at being interrupted. “Alright, we’re gonna meet back here in a couple hours. How long d’you think you’ll need, you two?”

 

“Not more than two or three hours, surely, s’long as I don’t get lost,” Sniper said.

 

“I can like, show you around an’ stuff if you want,” Scout suggested. “Since I know where everything is.”

 

“Then three hours at most if we’re sticking together,” Sniper said.

 

“Alright. We’ll meet back here at quarter to five, and we can be back on base in time for dinner,” Engie concluded, punctuating with a satisfied nod. “Scout, do you have a watch?”

 

“There’s clocks in the town square an’ stuff,” he complained, hopping out of the bed of the truck.

 

Engie gave him a look. “Scooter,” he said, tone warning.

 

“I’ll be with Snipes anyways, alright? And it wasn’t even my fault I was late last time! Sheesh,” Scout whined, pulling his cap on and spotting Sniper as he climbed out of the truck behind him.

 

“Alright. Sniper, you make sure this boy gets here on time, he tends to forget,” Engie directed. “I’ll be taking our favorite Scot to work on groceries and parts.”

 

Sniper tipped his hat in understanding, and he made his way off down the street, Scout darting to follow him after a parting word from Engie (presumably a warning, from Scout’s pout when he caught up).

 

“Where’re we going?” Sniper asked when they were out of hearing range.

 

“Well, what were your errands for? That you needed to do?” Scout asked.

 

Sniper shrugged. “Just picking up some non-perishables that I could have on hand. Not much. We can do your errands first, if you’d like.”

 

“Sure,” Scout said, and paused for a second. “Actually, did you eat lunch before you left?”

 

“Nah,” Sniper said.

 

“Hey, me neither!” Scout chimed, perking up. “Wanna go get somethin’ to eat before we do whatever else? Y’know, real food, not the whatever that we got on base?”

 

Sniper considered the question, then nodded. “Yeah, alright.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Scout was halfway through his food and Sniper had nearly emptied his drink by the time it occurred to him.

 

The thought made his head whip up, eyes locking into the younger man, who had only just finished explaining the end of Mary Poppins and apparently only then noticed that he’d been talking so much he’d forgotten his meal. All in all, he looked fairly preoccupied with the food, and didn’t notice Sniper staring at him.

 

“Scout,” Sniper finally said, the slightest bit hesitant.

 

Scout hummed through his mouthful of taco.

 

Sniper paused, cast a low-profile glance around them to double-check if anyone was in earshot. Nobody was. “Is this, er...” he started. “Was this meant to be a date?”

 

Scout choked. Sniper slid his glass of water across the tabletop, but otherwise let him just sort out his whole situation on his own, trying not to feel self-conscious about the number of eyes Scout’s coughing drew. Eventually he got himself under wraps enough to respond. “What?” he asked eloquently, wiping at his watering eyes with the back of his hand.

 

“I mean, out on the town, eating lunch alone, it’s...” Sniper shrugged, sheepish now. “Seems a bit like a date.”

 

Scout looked at him for a few seconds. Sniper could see the cogs turning in his head. “Shit, it really does,” he admitted. “Did... I think it might be a date.”

 

There was a fairly awkward pause for a few moments. Sniper took a drink of water.

 

“I mean, I probably should’ve—like, it’s on me for not planning better, and not... outright asking,” Scout said, shoulders slumped, the very picture of a guilty person. “I’m sorry. Did... did I fuck this up?”

 

“No, no, you’re fine, I just... dunno, wish I had some forewarning is all,” Sniper replied, voice a mumble.

 

“So you’re okay with...?” Scout asked, hesitant, suspicious.

 

“Yeah. Didn’t imagine my first date in half a decade would be runnin’ errands an’ picking up condoms, though,” Sniper said.

 

That caught Scout off guard enough to make him crack a smile, and he ducked his head, trying to hide it. “Then this one can just be errands and we can do an actual date later. But honestly, if you wanted a classy guy, should’ve blown someone else,” he muttered.

 

“Ohhhhhhh!” Sniper chuckled, sitting back. “Fuckin’ hell, look who’s got a bite on ‘im! Sure told me!”

 

“You’re the worst,” Scout muttered, nearly facedown on the table, unable to hide the grin in his voice.

 

“And _you_  invited me regardless,” Sniper shot back, entirely without venom.

 

Scout gave him a glare as he picked up the last taco on his plate and started eating it with an exaggerated pout. “The worst,” he repeated through his mouthful.

 

Sniper returned to his own food, trying to bite back his smile.

 

Once they finished eating, they made their way down the street towards the convenience store, Scout narrating the various shops along the way, most of which were of little note. Flower shop, small grocer’s, boutique, tattoo parlor—but then, Sniper stopped, processing the place visible just down the street past one of the bars. Tinted windows, muted sign, posters plastered to the door.

 

Scout seemed to note his line of sight and tried to walk faster. Sniper didn’t follow.

 

“Mate, we can’t _not_  go look in there,” Sniper said, grinning. “What, we’re gonna go to the boring old pharmacy, skip over—“

 

“We’re not goin’ in the sex shop, hell no,” Scout said firmly.

 

“Come _on_ , you can’t tell me you’re not curious!” By the way Scout was acting, combined with Scout’s general awkwardness regarding anything lewd (even moreso than most other Americans Sniper had met), it was pretty clear that he’d certainly never had the guts to go into a sex store before. “Listen, it’s higher quality supplies in there regardless.”

 

Scout fidgeted, glancing around them. There weren’t many people on the street. “What, so you’ve been in one of those places before?” he asked, trying for dismissive.

 

“Yeah,” Sniper said, shrugging.

 

Scout seemed downright taken aback by the admission. “Wait, seriously?” he squeaked.

 

“Yeah. Don’t see what’s so odd about it. Mostly they usually sell a ton of lingerie and the like, then some stuff for bachelorette parties or whatnot, some skin mags, and then the actual toys and lube.”

 

Scout had his hands shoved in his pockets and was making stern eye contact with a wall. His face was turning a rather pretty red. “Cool, good to know,” Scout said, trying his best to appear unperturbed. He was unsuccessful.

 

Sniper rolled his eyes. “Mate, listen. We’ll _just_  go in there for the lube an’ condoms then we’ll be right back out again, aye? If it makes you happy, we won’t so much as _look_  at anything scandalous or, dare I say, _provocative_.”

 

Scout covered his face with his hands. “I can’t believe I’m even fuckin’ thinking about this,” he groaned.

 

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re a _pansie_ , Scout?” Sniper tried, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

“Don’t even try that, it’s not gonna work,” Scout warned.

 

“Won’t it?”

 

A pause. Sniper’s smile grew as the silence stretched on.

 

“The _worst_  person,” Scout huffed as he stormed past Sniper and across the street towards the shop. Sniper tried not to look too smug.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The place was much larger than it initially appeared, and laid out in a way that was just a bit confusing considering the somewhat low lighting. That made it all the easier for Sniper to pull Scout in the wrong direction to further mess with him in what was rapidly becoming the most entertaining afternoon he’d ever had with another person in public.

 

“Hey Scout,” he said, and when Scout looked over, he held up an item. It was one of those roleplay costume things, specifically a sexy maid. “What’s your dress size? Maybe this would—“

 

“Fuck you,” Scout said, glaring in the opposite direction.

 

“Hey, if they sold clothes that would fit me, I’d wear them,” Sniper shrugged, lying outright and holding the item in Scout’s line of sight. “I’m just too tall.”

 

“I’m not gonna wear that, there is no amount of money you could hand me to make me put that on,” Scout said firmly, snatching it and hanging it back up.

 

“This one, then,” Sniper suggested, picking up the one next to it, an even more revealing outfit.

 

“Quit it,” Scout hissed, obviously flustered.

 

Sniper cast his gaze around and noted that they were out of sight of the cashier. He leaned down a bit, gave Scout a peck on the cheek, much to Scout’s surprise. He then moved his mouth over to Scout’s ear. “C’mon, you’d look awfully cute all dolled up,” he murmured, and Scout had frozen up. “Might be fun, struttin’ around lookin’ so pretty.”

 

Scout worried at his bottom lip. “I ain’t wearing a dress, I’ll look like a goddamn idiot,” he protested under his breath once he’d apparently gotten his voice back, tilting his head a fraction closer.

 

“Fine, something else, then, hmm?” Sniper hummed. “C’mon, nobody else ever has to know about it. I’ll even buy it if you’re too embarrassed to.”

 

A few emotions were warring out on Scout’s face. “I’m not lettin’ you pick,” he said firmly.

 

“Alright by me,” Sniper agreed, pulled back just enough to smirk at him. “Am I allowed to make suggestions, at least?”

 

“No, you’ll just make fun again,” Scout groused, and tipped up to kiss Sniper briefly.

 

When they parted again, Sniper couldn’t help but laugh a bit. “C’mon, I’ve been keepin’ my hands to myself this whole time, unfair of you to make it more difficult for me like this,” he complained.

 

“Oh, puh- _lease_ , we both know you’re the hot one,” Scout scoffed, standing normally again, a distance put back between them, all the pieces reset.

 

“Do we? Do we know that? Don’t think that’s true,” Sniper said, following a step or two behind as Scout wandered down the aisle, casting eyes over the various clothes.

 

“Just—listen, you go and get lube or, or whatever else you’re in here for, okay? And I’ll do my own thing, then we can get the fuck outta here,” Scout said, still flustered but apparently at least slightly less viable towards jumping out of his own skin.

 

“Alright,” Sniper shrugged, and ducked out of the aisle, using his height to his advantage as he looked over the tops of the shelves and racks for what he needed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sniper got a different brand of lube than he usually jumped for—he knew the usual kind wasn’t good for silicon, which was usually a thing in condoms. He also decided to get flavored lube, because hey, why not? It wasn’t like he was running low on funds. Blood money was printed on gold leaf. Even with him sending the majority of it back home, he was still amassing a considerable amount of pocket change. Might as well use it, for once.

 

He also got one additional thing, for reasons.

 

Scout came up to the counter just as Sniper was handed his bag, and Sniper stepped just off to one side to let him do his thing. When he tried to lean and catch a glimpse of what Scout had gotten, Scout flipped him off. He chuckled and looked away, letting Scout keep his surprises, at least for the moment.

 

“Can I see some ID?” the cashier asked patiently, and Scout looked a bit indignant for a moment.

 

“She asked me too, mate, keep y’hat on,” Sniper murmured from one side.

 

“It’s just standard,” the girl shrugged.

 

“Fine,” Scout grumbled, fishing for his wallet.

 

She raised eyebrows at him after examining the ID for a moment. “Hm. Twenty-four, huh?”

 

Sniper watched the interaction for a few more moments before deciding that he was no longer the one being addressed and Scout wasn’t about to hit anyone, and so he tuned out, instead looking around the store idly to satisfy the paranoia that he couldn’t fully shake considering his day job. He glanced over the exits and racks the same way he had when he entered the place, taking note of the two other people in the building—an older man and what seemed to be someone towards the end of their teens, nearly as flustered as Scout was at the beginning of this ordeal.

 

Finally Scout leaned into his periphery to catch his attention, and they were leaving, Scout still looking fairly sheepish about the whole situation.

 

“Bags are opaque,” Sniper noted, holding up his own. “So I don’t think you’ve really got much to worry about.”

 

“Whatever, I don’t care, I’m like... I’m an adult, I can buy what I want anyways,” Scout mumbled, staring determinedly at the sidewalk, starting to chew at his lip in the silence that followed. “Uh. I have a question.”

 

“Hit me,” Sniper said, eyes roving the other people on the street idly.

 

“You asked if I was gonna be getting stuff because I was plannin’ on... whatever you said, with some girl,” Scout tried. Sniper looked at him, eyebrows raised, but Scout’s face was partially hidden from view by the brim of his baseball cap. Sniper took a moment before he remembered what Scout was talking about.

 

“Right,” he said.

 

“Um. I was just wondering...” Scout took a breath, released it, very deliberately relaxed his shoulders even as his jaw stayed tight. “Um. Were you asking because... you... you were jealous?”

 

His mouth clamped back shut again, lips pressed into a hard line.

 

Sniper took a long moment to think about it, to recall his own thought process during the encounter the day before. He considered how he would feel if Scout told him he was headed off to find some girl at a bar for a one-night stand. His eyebrows furrowed at the thought.

 

“Might’ve been,” he decided, voice low as they passed another pair of people. “Don’t reckon I’d be keen on sharing.”

 

A pause. A scoff. “S’not like I’m yours in the first place,” Scout bit out, voice quiet.

 

Sniper’s eyebrow shot up. “Excuse me?” he asked, disbelieving.

 

Scout seemed... bitter, all at once. “I mean, you don’t fuckin’ own me, I dunno what you mean by “sharing”—“ He did vicious air quotes. “—I don’t owe you anything. What do _you_  care what I do in my free time?”

 

Sniper felt indignant, staring outright. “Mate, the hell’s gotten into you?” he asked fiercely.

 

“I’m just saying, you don’t have any right telling me what I can and can’t do, you’re not my boss or a cop or my mom, _pal_ , you aren’t in charge of me,” Scout sneered. “If I feel like it, I could just go pick up some chick _whenever_.”

 

Sniper bristled. “Oh, alright, I suppose it’s only fair that I go pick up some other bloke at a bar, then,” he retorted. “See how you like that, aye? Find some other scrawny strip’a meat for a night.”

 

“Why would I care who you sleep with?!” Scout challenged, fists clenching tightly enough to imply that he did very much care who Sniper slept with. “Do whatever you want, I don’t give a fuck.”

 

All at once something in Sniper snapped, and he was gripping Scout by the scruff of his shirt and dragging him off to one side.

 

Scout squawked and flailed for a moment, and Sniper was fully aware that Scout could very well deck him cold if he so desired, but he didn’t, just stumbling as he was roughly steered off the beaten path.

 

They went a short distance into a thin alleyway before Sniper pushed Scout up against the bricks, crowding directly into his space. He practically ripped his glasses off, holding them at his side as his other hand went to grip Scout by the jaw to jerk his face upwards.

 

The kid’s eyes were wide, lips parted, scanning his expression rapidly, halfway to battlefield mode and still clearly trying to decide if he was about to fight Sniper. Sniper didn’t give him the chance to make a decision before he started talking.

 

“Listen,” he growled, eyes narrowing. “You can act all you want like there’s not some _thing_  going on between us. Go ahead. I’m willing to keep up this little dance of yours for as long as it takes, I’m a very patient man. We can keep spinning in these little circles for as long as you feel like. We can wait out our goddamn contracts like this. You can even just give up on this game entirely if you want, and just walk away, move on with the rest of your life like none of this happened. I’m a grown man, I can get over it. But don’t you _dare_ , don’t you bloody well _fucking dare_  try and play me by bringing someone else into this just to try and make me _jealous_.”

 

“What, is it working?” Scout asked tremulously, never the type to know when to quit.

 

Sniper snarled, diving in to close the distance between them and wasting no time in biting at Scout’s lip the same way Scout had been doing all goddamn day, using his gasp of surprise to gain access to his mouth.

 

It wasn’t often that they kissed like this—hell, if it could even be called a kiss. It was a half-step away from being outright combat, the way they fought for dominance, the desperation and ferocity with which they gripped at each other’s clothes and bodies, the devastation it left them in afterwards. This type of kissing (and often subsequent fucking) was reserved exclusively for losing streaks and close calls in matches that left the mercs buzzing with adrenaline and dissatisfaction, craving some kind of outlet for their lingering bloodlust.

 

Sniper came to his senses only enough to pull back, and Scout’s eyes were hazy and dark, lips still parted but now with the additional adjectives of red, swollen, and wet. He looked downright debauched. Sniper’s doing.

 

“Yes,” Sniper said darkly, “I think it’s working better than you intended.”

 

Scout’s eyes flicked over Sniper’s face, not bothering with subtlety. “As if this wasn’t the end goal either way,” Scout said, letting humor into his tone.

 

Sniper nosed at Scout’s jawline, drawing shivers from him. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Think you’re smooth?” Sniper asked, low into Scout’s ear.

 

“Yeah, pretty much,” Scout agreed.

 

Sniper exhaled in what might’ve been a sigh or a laugh—it was really up to Scout. “Well, all your clever jokes aside, I do mean it. Don’t go picking up folks, I’ll be extremely unhappy with you,” he said. “And not even in a fun way.”

 

“What about you?” Scout asked.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Would you ever... go to other people? Other guys?” The humor was gone, but wasn’t replaced with ire. Scout instead seemed to be trying very hard to sound neutral.

 

Sniper thought for a moment. “No. That wouldn’t be fair, would it?”

 

“No, I mean... even if we _were_  open and both allowed to do whatever, would you...?” Scout trailed.

 

Sniper took a moment to distract himself by nipping lightly at Scout’s earlobe and enjoying the way his breathing hitched and a soft sound rolled through his throat. “No,” he finally answered. “No, I wouldn’t. You’re more than enough for me.”

 

Scout froze up, and Sniper pulled back a bit to look his face over. Scout was doing the thing again where he was very deliberately not making eye contact, but now instead of chewing his lip nervously, he was biting back a wide smile. “I’m glad,” he said softly, ducking his head.

 

“You know, we should really hurry up if we’re going to get my shopping done,” Sniper said, glancing at his watch.

 

“Yeah, okay. I’ll, uh, lead the way.” Scout scooped up his bag from where he’d dropped it, glancing over the contents briefly before apparently finding things in order. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something else, but he shook it off. “Alright, let’s go!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sniper was a patient man, but he was also aware that Scout was _not_ , and so he wasn’t that surprised that it only took a couple of weeks for Scout’s purchase to crop up.

 

Scout had been jittery from the moment he stepped over the threshold into Sniper’s camper, which he initially attributed to Scout coming down from the caffeine high that he used to coast through the weekdays. They both had a drink, and passed some time lightly bantering, and inevitably ended up pressed close together, Scout’s arm around Sniper’s neck and the other gripping his shirt in a familiar weight and constriction that he couldn’t seem to mind.

 

Scout was backed against the counter, and Sniper was nipping at his ear, hands sliding to rest in his back pockets neatly, when Scout finally said something.

 

“H-hey, I...” Scout started, and Sniper pulled back to look at him, and Scout took a second to try and even out his voice, eyes flicking away in a fashion that Sniper had eventually learned meant Scout was very, very nervous. “Uh. I wanted to show you something.”

 

Sniper looked his face over, giving a single slow blink.

 

“And—and you gotta, um.” The nervousness was clearly mounting. “You, you gotta promise you won’t... laugh, okay? Because, I, I’m gonna be pissed off if you laugh. I’ll just straight up leave, alright? Like, don’t do it.”

 

Sniper had a feeling that Scout would be more than just pissed. “Alright. I promise not to laugh,” Sniper shrugged, words easy.

 

“Swear?” Scout challenged, something fierce and jagged behind his eyes.

 

“Swear,” Sniper said just as easily.

 

“Okay,” Scout said, and exhaled, and flicked his eyes first to the door (locked) and then to the windows (curtained) and then to Sniper’s face (curious). “Okay. Sit over there.”

 

Sniper followed Scout’s nod, and did as requested, taking a seat at the table, facing out.

 

“Alright,” Scout said, and moved to pull off his hand wraps.

 

The wraps had a few different functions, as Scout had explained once. Firstly to prevent callouses (and it worked—Scout’s hands were smooth except for the pads of his fingers, a distinct visual difference from much of the rest of the team and himself), then to help keep a grip on things, then to brace his fingers and wrist for both punching and beating blokes’ heads in with a baseball bat since stress fractures were fairly common. And it took a surprising amount of athletic tape to accomplish the task of keeping his hands braced and protected, as was demonstrated by the amount of time it always took for Scout to put it on in the lockers before battle. While the rest of the team checked their weapons or suited up, Scout was always just wrapping up his hands in sure, practiced movements.

 

But now, Scout untucked the tape and went about unspooling it; first his right hand, then his left. He was efficient, but he didn’t rush, and Sniper noticed his eyes flickering up every few moments to gauge for a reaction. Once the tape was unwrapped and tossed cleanly into the bin, he smoothed a thumb across the opposite palm, stretching out his fingers and feeling the texture that the wraps imprinted into his skin, quickly fading.

 

A beat of hesitation. Eyes flickering up to look at Sniper. Sniper looked right back, eyes unhindered by sunglasses in the dim room and filled with curiosity.

 

Scout turned around, and reached hands up and back to start pulling his shirt off, and realization dawned on Sniper all at once as he watched the uncharacteristically slow and smooth and deliberate way Scout moved as the fabric slid upwards, exposing his skin in incriments.

 

Scout was doing a strip tease. _Scout_  was doing a _strip tease_ , standing just out of reach if Sniper were to try and reach out and touch him. Tantalizingly close, exactly too far. A _strip tease_. Sniper swallowed, throat suddenly gone dry.

 

There was a stretch, a curve to Scout’s back as the shirt made it past his shoulders, and Sniper wondered idly if the cheeky fuck had been practicing this.

 

He admired the lean muscle of Scout’s back—one of the few places Scout had definition above the waist, mostly from the baseball—and all at once Scout was dropping the shirt off to one side and turning around.

 

Scout seemed to catch the hunger in his gaze, and some of the nervousness faded from his eyes, replaced by determination.

 

He smoothed the heels of his hands down the outside of his thighs, drawing back up and moving to undo his belt in two effective movements, sliding it from his belt loops and dropping that off to the side as well.

 

His tags shone against his chest, jingling lightly in harmony with the rattle of the belt hitting the floor. Sniper’s heartbeat was loud in his ears.

 

He pressed his thumbs into his pockets, pushing until the waistband of his pants moved lower, lower, catching against bony hips and exposing skin by centimeters. A familiar bulge was becoming more prominent there at the front of his pants with each passing second. Finally, they were pushed as far down as they went. A hand moved to toy with the button of his pants, and Sniper swallowed hard once more, futilely. He’d seen Scout naked before, how was this so hot?

 

The button was undone and his pants opened and Sniper’s breath hitched with a second understanding.

 

Eyes flicked back up to Scout’s, disbelieving. Scout’s adam’s apple bobbed, jaw tight.

 

Scout pushed his pants slowly down, careful not to disrupt the way that the—fuck, _fuck_ , the goddamn _panties_  sat on his hips, hiding almost _nothing_  and making Sniper’s blood run red hot. He realized all at once that his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it with a click of teeth, face burning.

 

Scout turned again, showing off the way white lace and beautifully-thin cloth clung to his unfairly pert ass as he slowly bent to slide his pants down, and then Sniper’s eyes widened further as he took note of the fact that apparently Scout had foregone his usual knee-high socks to instead put on some matching stockings. He hadn’t noticed the difference—the lace started a little way above the knees, and his pants were just baggy enough that you couldn’t tell.

 

Sniper was a patient man, but by the time Scout picked his way out of his pants and smoothed hands up ridiculously muscular legs and turned around again with the _audacity_  to look nervous, to look needy, the _nerve_  to have an earnest desire for approval in his eyes, well, he was at his limit. Fuck, the way Scout carefully plucked at lace to make it sit just right squeezed around his thighs, and fuck, the way his cock strained and peeked from behind those panties, and _fuck_ , the way he nervously smoothed his palms up the back of his thighs and over the curve of his ass as if he really, truly didn’t know what he was doing to Sniper.

 

“You can touch me, if you want,” Scout finally said, voice shaky and uneven and a good deal lower and softer than usual, and _yes, Sniper did very much want._

 

Within a moment, Sniper lunged forward and knelt before Scout, ignoring the slight pain of his knees hitting the ground and moving his mouth to suckle at the skin just above the waistband of the panties, hands stroking up over the fabric covering his thighs and back down again, squeezing and kneading at flesh like he hadn’t had the chance to touch another person in years.

 

“W-woah!” Scout breathed, only barely managing to catch himself before he was toppled over. “Y-you really— _oh!"_  he gasped as Sniper’s hands found his ass and squeezed. “Oh, y-you really... you really like this, huh?”

 

Sniper groaned agreement as he sucked a mark into the join of pelvis and thigh, nosing aside delicate fabric to do so, sinking in teeth for a moment just so he could soothe it with his tongue a second later. He answered Scout’s muffled cry with a growl, taking a moment to seal his mouth over his groin before he managed to drag himself back with paper-thin self control.

 

“Bed. Now,” he demanded breathlessly, forgoing courtesy for the sake of brevity.

 

“Okay,” Scout said, obviously dazed, expression one of open astonishment.

 

Sniper continued his oral worship the moment Scout’s back touched mattress, lying perpendicular. He wasted no time, just pushing his legs apart and setting to work at the join of stocking and smooth yet powerful thighs. Scout jerked beneath him, mewling out... something, something that died muffled into his hand.

 

“Think I could get you off like this?” Sniper asked, eyes trailing up Scout’s trembling stomach muscles and already heaving chest to catch sight of eyes scrunched closed and teeth digging into his bottom lip as he pulled his hand back to answer. A stroke of thumbs across the innermost border of lace just barely covering Scout’s entrance brought forth a needy keen. “Oh, I think I could. Make you beg, make you moan, make you ruin this gorgeous pair of panties the same day you first put them on.”

 

“It’s not,” Scout panted, shifting his arms to lie limp against the sheets.

 

“Hm?” Sniper asked, glancing up from where he’d been sucking a mark directly to one side of Scout’s cock.

 

“Not the first time I put these on,” he clarified.

 

Sniper felt his dick twitch from where it was still trapped in his jeans. “Yeah?”

 

“Y-yeah.” Scout gasped at the feeling of Sniper kissing his cock through the thin fabric. “I, I wanted to... get this right, so I, I practiced how I was gonna—do this.” He gulped down a breath, head falling back. “Fuck. That’s probably dumb. Ignore me. I’m gonna... shut up now.”

 

Sniper grinned, kissing once more, slower this time. “Either way, I think I’d like to see you come in them,” he purred, and Scout’s thighs twitched at the reverberations of his voice even as he whined a complaint at the idea.

 

All at once, an idea like a lightning bolt.

 

“Y’know, it’s really not fair that you get to bring out _your_  toy before I get to bring out mine,” he hummed, nuzzling into a stocking-clad thigh.

 

Scout craned his head to frown at Sniper, then leaned a bit up when that wasn’t working. “What? _Your_  toy?” he repeated, confused.

 

“Mm-hmm,” Sniper agreed. “I think it’d only be fair that I get to bring mine out too.”

 

Scout looked a bit wary, but didn’t protest outside of another whine when Sniper got up and moved to a drawer under the bed where he usually kept lube (and, more recently, condoms).

 

Scout had sat up onto his elbows while Sniper retrieved his prize—purchased the same day Scout had gotten his little getup. “What’s that?” he asked, looking over the contraption; a simple rubber and plastic something, attached to another plastic something by a wire string.

 

Sniper answered by moving to sit between Scout’s legs again and placing the rubber object at the innermost crease of thigh and groin, tucking it gently into already-straining panties so it would stay in place. Then, without further ado, he flicked the dial on.

 

Scout jumped when the object tucked against his thigh started to hum, and his eyes widened in understanding. “Ohmygod you’re joking,” he breathed, even as a shiver ran through him, hips jerking just slightly. “Where’d you even—I didn’t think—you’re _joking_.”

 

“Not in the slightest. Would you like me to turn it on properly?” Sniper asked, perfectly level.

 

“Yeah! Yes! Please do!” Scout squeaked, shifting his legs apart, jolting when that moved the vibrator slightly.

 

Sniper turned it off entirely for a moment while he repositioned it, tucking it to press against the base of Scout’s cock and balls. He glanced at Scout once to confirm that there didn’t seem to be any doubts, then he flicked the toy back on.

 

“MMH!” Scout groaned, sharp, hand pressing over his mouth before he could cry out. He took a few seconds to try and compose himself, then peeled his hand away to speak. “F-fuck, god, that, that f-feels, fuckin’... so fuckin’ weird Snipes,” he managed to half-whimper.

 

Sniper’s response was to cup a hand over Scout’s groin, massaging the toy more firmly against him, ignoring the slightly ticklish sensation of the vibrations rolling up his arm.

 

Scout bucked his hips involuntarily, eyes fluttering closed, sinking back boneless against the mattress. “Fuck, it’s... it’s so weird but it’s such a good weird, such a weird and good weird,” he mumbled, words practically slurring together as he melted under the onslaught of gentle pleasure. A giddy laugh. “I’m not gonna last like this! Sniper, I’m—“

 

His words were cut off with a gasp as Sniper turned the toy off again. “C’mon now, love, can’t even last long enough to feel what it’s like buzzing away from inside?” he teased, stroking a hand up Scout’s stomach.

 

Scout squirmed a bit, ticklish as ever—or maybe with mounting desperation at Sniper’s words. “Just—gimme a second,” he managed, twisting hands into the sheets.

 

Sniper took a moment to undo the button and zipper of his pants and sighed with relief, settling a palm over himself for a moment as he looked over the young man below him. He took the brief reprieve to just ingrain the image before him into his mind for future jerkoff material; Scout laid out on his back, head tipped upwards to expose the arch of his neck, hands fisted in Sniper’s sheets, legs spread and wrapped in lacy stockings with a pair of panties on, sweating and gasping for air and trying his best not to jerk his hips up to gain some sort of pleasure back again.

 

Sniper wished he had a camera. He understood that Scout would probably sooner wring his neck than let him take a photo of him like this, but that’s a risk Sniper was willing to take.

 

“So? You wanna try?” Sniper prompted.

 

Scout hesitated for only a second. “Yeah. Yeah, I... yeah,” he decided.

 

Sniper drew circles on the inner part of Scout’s knees with his thumbs. “You sure? I could always just get you off like this,” Sniper said.

 

“Yeah, well... nah, I wanna—I wanna try,” Scout insisted, more firmly now.

 

“Alright.” Sniper tugged to toy from where it was resting, moving to pick up the bottle of lube by his knee and popping it open. “It’s not that big, so you won’t need too much prep.”

 

Scout nodded, and Sniper hooked a thumb in the panties, pulling them just to one side so he could set to work.

 

Scout gasped as Sniper breached him, and there was that nervous little giggle again. “Man, if I knew you were—were so into these, I’d have done this a lot sooner,” he laughed. “And, and this isn’t gonna be like, like a _regular thing_ , but, I, I-I dunno.”

 

Sniper laid a kiss on Scout’s thigh, chaste and sweet in contrast to his fingers setting to work with efficiency afforded by experience. “Well, I can’t just lay out my kinks for you to see so easily, can I? That’s an awful lot of power for one man,” he pointed out, squeezing Scout’s ass under the fingers not holding the panties aside.

 

Scout jerked slightly, breath picking up again. “Y-yeah. God, fuck, can you hurry up? You’re killin’ me here, Snipes,” he complained, a strain in his voice. Sniper knew Scout was probably ready, but he was enjoying watching the mounting desperation.

 

“Hmm. Might just spend all day like this. You have any other plans today?” he teased.

 

“As if,” Scout managed through uneven breaths. “Come on, your—your hand would get tired.”

 

“Fair point. God, if only there was some sort of device that could do all the work for me, instead of me just crampin’ my hand up every time I wanna watch a cute boy come apart on my mattress,” Sniper drawled.

 

“Man, why don’t you just quit your day job and be a comedian?” he asked, somehow able to sound sarcastic even when he was being so thuroughly wrecked.

 

“I happen to like my day job,” Sniper said, deciding to forgo additional banter for the sake of moving things forward, moving to wipe his hand off on his pants (he’d be washing them anyways) and lubing up the toy. “You ready?”

 

Scout tilted his hips. “Hell yeah. Go for it.”

 

Sniper, not long later, while Scout cried out his name in the filthiest voice Sniper had ever heard in his life and made a mess of his nearly brand new underwear, and Sniper jerked himself to high heaven at the sight and also sound and also taste and feel, wondered if Scout would’ve agreed to any of the situation at all if Sniper had tried to bring it up earlier. He sincerely doubted it. Next, he wondered if maybe it was possible that he’d had a hand in sort of... messing up Scout, giving him these ideas and inspiring him to act the way he was acting. It was possible. Finally, he really wondered if Scout would mind putting another outfit like that on again once Sniper had tracked down and bought a camera, because _christ_ , the sight of him.

 

“You’re takin’ me out to get me a new pair of these, since you’re the one that thought it would be hot to fuck 'em up,” Scout panted, flashing a ruined smile at Sniper once he’d recovered some minute amount from his desolation, not having given way to discomfort just yet and simply basking in the afterglow. Somehow, either the words or that smile tilted Sniper over the edge, and he groaned into the knee of one of the legs that had been thrown over his shoulder.

 

It took him a few moments to get himself under control enough to remember what Scout had said, and to get the breath back to laugh. “Deal,” he said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sniper was flipping through Scout’s albums, listening to some murmured commentary on some band or the other, when suddenly Scout stopped talking.

 

He didn’t think much of it, figuring Scout was just switching between conversation topics, and finally he found the empty record case to match the one nearly finished spinning away on the beaten-up player. He turned and opened his mouth to ask if Scout wanted to listen to anything in particular, and saw that Scout had his eyes closed.

 

...Oh. Scout was asleep.

 

Admittedly, that sent a tinge of disappointment through Sniper. He’d sort of figured this would end up like it usually did when the two of them were alone in a room together for the evening. It wasn’t like they had an agreement set in stone, nothing so concrete as that, but it seemed that every Friday night they wound up “hanging out”, maybe drinking or maybe just talking and eventually rolling about in the sheets. It was something that Sniper looked forward to, if he was being honest.

 

On the other hand, this was an unusual circumstance. If anything, Sniper was generally the one who had the lower energy, and was dragged along by Scout onto the mattress. But here Scout was, falling asleep at—a glance at the clock on his cluttered desk—seven PM on a weekday. It was very unlike him.

 

Sniper stood for a few moments, still as stone, sorting through his options, before he reached over to move the needle from the record and flip it off. Then he was turning on the light on the nightstand, flicking off the harsh overhead.

 

Scout probably needed his sleep, if he was out like a light in the early evening. Sniper decided to just let him snooze, leave him to get some rest. Then again, it felt like it would be mean to just outright ditch him, for whatever reason. Sniper understood that Scout was the sort who preferred to be around other people.

 

He moved to one of the shelves of Scout’s bookcase (mostly stocked with non-book items) and pulled from it what appeared to be some novel nicked from the common room. He then carefully, carefully sat himself down on the mattress, lounging back and opening the book, settling in.

 

Around 10:30, Scout stirred. Not the same kind as how he’d gently tossed and turned when he was sleeping, moving to lay his arm over Sniper’s midsection and pressing a cheek against his bicep (trapping Sniper’s arm in the process, but there were worse fates). This was a stir, a shift, a half-groan, a stretch. Finally, Scout turned enough to blink up at him, eyes narrow against the light of the lamp.

 

“Hi,” Sniper said, very amused by the confusion on Scout’s face as he tried to process his surroundings.

 

“Hi,” Scout replied, voice rough, almost sandy. He blinked. “Pass me my water?”

 

Sniper had to put down the book he was holding and stretch his arm awkwardly to reach, but he managed to grab the water bottle off the nightstand. Scout drained a third of the remainder in one breath, then flopped his head back down on Sniper’s shoulder, groaning quietly again.

 

An observation Sniper had made not long before was the fact that Scout was always the most peaceful in the two minutes following him waking up. Groggy and guileless and tactile and sweet. He didn’t see it much, since Scout often woke up first, but it was very pleasant.

 

It didn’t last forever. Slowly, he appeared to be waking up enough to be processing things. “I fell asleep,” he said aloud, not quite a question.

 

Sniper nodded regardless. Scout sighed, squishing his eyes closed tightly.

 

“Fuck. Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to.”

 

Sniper hummed. “You tired today for some reason?”

 

“Yeah. Some reason,” Scout mumbled, two steps past bitter. He stretched again, shoulders popping and making him groan. “Sorry. I don’t think I’m gonna be any fun tonight.”

 

“Well, I’m _never_  any fun, so consider it getting even,” Sniper joked, and Scout snorted.

 

“Liar.” Scout’s eyes dropped back closed, and Sniper turned the page of his book, continuing to read, assuming the conversation was over. He was incorrect. “...Hey. I have a question.”

 

“When don’t you?” Sniper asked.

 

Scout’s arm over his stomach tightened in protest to Sniper’s sass. “Really.”

 

“Alright, go ahead,” Sniper said.

 

“Uh. So... do you remember the... do you remember the first time we... did, stuff?”

 

Sniper let the book tilt in his hand, eyes rising as he considered the question. “...Dunno. Some time after the last break, right? Maybe... couple months ago?”

 

“It was, uh... six months ago, yeah. Or, a little more than five.” Scout’s voice was quiet, much quieter than normal, which Sniper appreciated since he was so close. “But I meant more like... do you _remember_  it?”

 

“...Not sure,” Sniper admitted, trying to think back. “I... know we’d both drank a good deal, when the team was all hanging about doin’... somethin’. You came across me when I’d stepped out to smoke, said somethin’ to me, we wound up in one of the storage areas with your hands down my trousers.”

 

Scout was quiet for a second. “I was hittin’ on you kind of as a joke, I didn’t think... you’d ever go for someone like me,” he murmured, sheepish.

 

“Someone like you?” Sniper asked, eyebrows drawing together.

 

“Yeah. Y’know, just...” Scout’s expression shifted. “Y’know.”

 

“I don’t reckon I do,” Sniper said. “What do you mean?”

 

Scout turned his head a bit, eyes drooping and sleepy. “Y’know, all... scrawny. Not good at stuff. Dumb. Just a real piece’a work.”

 

Sniper frowned. “What? What prompted this?”

 

Scout shrugged.

 

Sniper flicked his eyes back up to the ceiling. “I get the feeling you won’t believe me if I tell you those things aren’t true,” he hazarded. Scout hummed an agreement. “Well, then let me say, regardless of whether those things are true, I still would absolutely... “go for someone like you”, was it?”

 

“Why?” Scout asked, almost too quiet to hear.

 

Sniper took a breath. “I’m hardly about to expose myself like that, mate, but nice try,” he said, tone joking. “You want me to open up about my type, you’ll have to be a _bit_  more crafty.”

 

Scout laughed a little at that, breath warm on Sniper’s shoulder. “Damn. Caught me.”

 

Sniper glanced at the clock, then back at Scout. “You want me to stick around for the night, or would you rather I leave you be?”

 

“Stay.” He barely even seemed to think about it before making the decision. “Man, how’s this keep happening?”

 

Sniper hummed in question as he settled in a bit more comfortably, satisfied that he had permission to do so.

 

“The... we keep ending up like this, all just, _cuddling_  or whatever. How’s it keep happening?”

 

“Well, usually we end up together at night time and are fairly tired, and usually when you’re tired at night you sleep, and there’s never really many options except sharing a bed or sending one of us to walk five minutes to go to the bed we actually belong in,” Sniper reasoned. “And it’s also just pleasant, aye? Feels nice.”

 

Scout sighed in relief, tilting slightly into Sniper. “Okay, thank god. I thought it was just me.”

 

“You think I’d just let you cuddle me to humor you?” Sniper asked, bemused.

 

“I dunno, it’s just, every other time I’ve slept with someone, it’s...” Scout trailed for a second, clearly growing a bit frustrated at himself as he had to sift through his words. “I dunno. Nobody ever... I dunno.”

 

“Sounds like you were rollin’ into bed with some less ideal people,” Sniper said carefully.

 

“Nah, they just... didn’t wanna get feelings into the mix.” He still sounded uncertain, enough so that Sniper decided not to speak, to just let him sort through his thoughts a bit more. “...I mean, yeah, it was sorta... I mean, it could’ve been better.”

 

Sniper moved over just slightly, moving to put the book on the nightstand since he figured he wouldn’t be reading much more. With that hand freed, he shifted again to return to their previous position, but now with a hand lying on Scout’s arm, fingertips pressing just slightly in what he hoped was a comforting motion.

 

“Like... it was just sorta, it was always supposed to just be a one-time thing every time, y’know? And, and I’m a _guy_ , what guy likes lying around afterwards and talking about whatever? They weren’t... _nice_  to me, but, that wasn’t the point, y’know?”

 

“I _don’t_  know,” Sniper said, frowning. “What sorts of sub-par people were you sleeping with, that didn’t treat you right?”

 

“I-I dunno, it was just. It was just a thing that happened. And it didn’t happen _much_ , because I’m... this way, and I guess I just, I came on too strong or whatever, or tried too hard and nobody ever took me seriously—ha, what am I doin’ talkin’ in past tense? People still don’t take me seriously. But, hell I dunno, I just... I guess I just, I was just happy to get _anyone_  willing to put up with me.” Scout took a breath. “I guess I just mean... that’s just, that’s why I act all weird. Because nobody ever... gave a shit before. Or was nice to me. And, and you’re really nice to me, and I just... I’m still figuring it out.”

 

Sniper blinked a few times as he processed the new information. “I’m not... _that_  nice to you,” Sniper said slowly. “I... I think you need to raise your standards, mate.”

 

“Yeah, well, if I raised my standards then _nobody_  would wanna be with me, and I’d rather be upset sometimes than be alone."

 

Something in Sniper’s chest hurt at that. “...Interestin’ perspective.”

 

Scout blew out a breath. “It’s whatever, don’t worry about it. What... what was I sayin’, that got us talkin’ about this?”

 

Sniper honestly couldn’t remember. After a few seconds, Scout gave up too.

 

“Hit the light?” Scout asked.

 

Sniper did, only straining a little bit. Darkness fell back into place in the room. Sniper shifted slightly to get more comfortable, moving the arm that was around Scout so that it hopefully wouldn’t go numb.

 

Sleeping with someone—not in a sex way, but literally just sharing a bed with another person—had taken a bit of getting used to. At first he’d been very nearly too stressed by the presence of another person so close by to even consider falling asleep, hard-won instinct trying to keep him awake and alert. But after a few nights where the only surprises were the fact that Scout had apparently wanted to cling to him and the fact that he apparently had a very light snore (as he was informed not with irritation but with humor, because Scout found a lot of things to be funny), he had eventually relaxed. It helped that he was aware both that Scout really wasn’t the type to play the long con and lie to him, and also that he was fairly sure Scout would be just as ready to wake up and fight any threat that came by.

 

“Can I tell you somethin’?” Scout asked, voice hardly a whisper, after a minute or two of silence in the darkened room.

 

“Mmm-hmm,” Sniper rumbled, voice raspy as he tried to match Scout’s volume.

 

“This is a secret, though. I... you gotta promise you won’t tell anyone.”

 

“Who would I even tell?” Sniper asked. Scout was undoubtedly aware that he didn’t exactly talk to anyone else regularly. Scout was the one reprieve he ever took from a self-imposed hermitage.

 

Scout was quiet for a few moments. “You’re the first guy I ever slept with.”

 

The silence was ringing. “What?”

 

“You’re the first guy I ever slept with.”

 

“No, I heard you, just... really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

All at once, there were a thousand questions swimming around in Sniper’s head. He couldn’t figure out which to ask first, which one was the most important. He also knew that silence was definitely the incorrect answer to a confession like that, though, so he just picked one. “Why are you telling me this?”

 

“I just... I dunno. I thought it might be something you’d wanna know.”

 

That made sense. For some people, being the “first” or having a “first” was a pretty big deal—the concept of virginity and all that. Sniper was somewhere in the middle; it wasn’t that he didn’t care about that stuff, he just wasn’t inclined to make a big fuss of it much of the time unless his partner did.

 

It was unclear to him if this was Scout’s way of making a big fuss.

 

“I thought you said you’d... so you’d only ever been with a lot of girls, then?” Sniper asked next.

 

“Two.”

 

“...What?”

 

“I’ve... just two girls. One was a girl I’d been talking to for a while, the other was just...” Scout took a steadying breath. “The first was when I was twenty-one, and we barely did anything, then I asked her to go on a real date and she stopped talkin’ to me, then the other was two years later with some girl I met at a bar and who was real rude and we went the whole way and she left without even gettin’ my number.”

 

“Bloody— _crikey_ , mate.”

 

“Yeah.” Scout didn’t sound particularly upset, just... drained. Tired. “I just figured, I dunno, I should... I should tell you. I just thought you should know. Like... fuck, here I am, a grown adult, and I’ve got next to no experience with people, I...”

 

“Mate, you know that’s not...  _that_  strange, right?” Sniper cut in carefully. “I mean, maybe for most people in our line of work, but... in general, that’s not particularly odd.”

 

Scout didn’t reply to that for a few moments. “Isn’t it... obvious, though?” he tried.

 

“Not _really_ , just... I just figured you were a bit shy, or, or maybe it’d just been a while for you, or maybe both. And there’s nothin’ wrong with any of those things, it was just a bit unexpected.”

 

“Unexpected?”

 

“Yeah. Just seein’ you going from all...” Sniper took a second to think of how to word what he wanted to say, aware that this was a very delicate moment. “...I guess it’s just that you’re usually so high-energy and always jokin’ around and whatnot, so you suddenly getting all reserved was just surprising. Bit cute, but unexpected.”

 

Scout didn’t say anything.

 

“And I... I don’t think any less of you, with you tellin’ me that. If anything, I suppose that makes me feel rather special, the first bloke you decided to sleep with.”

 

“Yeah,” Scout said softly. Sniper wasn’t sure which part it was directed at. Quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry for... makin’ a big deal outta stuff.”

 

“No worries.”

 

“Really. I’m... I just don’t wanna fuck everything up.”

 

Sniper tightened his grip infinitesimally. “Same here.”

 

They fell asleep like that. Sniper couldn’t be sure, but he had the suspicion that Scout drifted off turning words over in his head too. He wasn't sure when all of this had become familiar. It wasn't meant to, it was meant to be... stress relief, an arrangement to let them get their rocks off from time to time. Teammates helping each other out. And they weren't even particularly good friends there at the beginning. But... something felt different now. He wasn't sure what.

 

Sniper didn't know if that was a good thing or not.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[if this takes longer than one more chapter, i give full permission for yall to hunt me down irl and smack me in the face]]


	3. Disquieting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[alright y’all a deal’s a deal, i expect those smacks in the face to be on my desk by monday]]

 

 

 

All at once, it was contract season. There was never really any warning, just the knowledge that at some point (always soon, and remaining soon for a very long time), Miss Pauling would show up with briefcases and files and the old conference room that they sometimes used for “team meetings” that nobody showed up to and then _actual_  team meetings that at least _most_  of them showed up to. She would start handing out assignments to everyone, and battle would be called off for a while. It wasn’t really a holiday, more a month or so of everyone coming and going from the base unable to talk about what they were doing, where they’d been. And they essentially had a free pass to go anywhere they wanted in the in-between time, as long as they checked in again.

 

As far as Sniper could tell, Heavy just basically went home for most of contract season. Medic used most of the season as Free Time (which was essentially fucking unheard of for the guy, as the only merc aside from Engie with any organizational skills and a desire to do something exclusively for the sake of keeping the team functional), and the few jobs he did have were mostly tagging along on other people’s missions or headed out to help if someone got hurt. Engie was commissioned to work on “company projects” instead of tinkering with his builds, Demo and Soldier were usually either sent as muscle or demolitions, “cleaning up” after various other jobs, and Sniper couldn’t be sure (because he couldn’t understand them) but he was pretty sure Pyro was literally just sent body burning for a few weeks, which had some concerning implications about what the rest of the company was up to while they were out in fuckall nowhere.

 

He knew that he and Spy were the two that were just sent to kill people. Spy didn’t talk about it, but Sniper could tell. Nobody was jaded enough to get properly distanced from murder. To move on, and very quickly, yeah, that wasn’t as difficult, but everyone would always have a little reverberation going on afterwards when they killed a person. The stupid petty little “war” didn’t count (right?).

 

That’s why Sniper didn’t want to talk about his missions when Scout inevitably asked.

 

“So what do you even  _do_ , though?” Scout said, and he was on Sniper’s bed, looking down at the table where there was a briefcase, closed and locked with a double-combination. Sniper had been planning on setting to work on what his schedule would be while he was away and how he would go about setting up for the job, but technically he had all morning before his flight left during the afternoon of the next day, and Scout seemed like he needed the company for whatever reason. So, instead, Sniper was folding his laundry at the counter. Technically it was the kitchen counter, so the process felt a little weird, but the table was taken and he’d already started.

 

“Sniping, generally,” was Sniper’s sarcastic non-answer, one he hoped Scout would take as a cue to switch to a different conversation and not just a joke to fill the space.

 

He didn’t. “Like, my stuff isn’t even actually that secret, because my stuff is boring as fuck and everyone on the team ends up knowing about it anyways, but what do you _do_ , for your jobs?”

 

“We end up knowing anyways?” Sniper asked, both because now he was curious and also because he really didn’t want Scout to keep asking questions.

 

“Yeah. Y’know how sometimes we end up headed to a different base to fight for a few days because the desert sucks and we lose our shit after being out here for longer than four months in a row?”

 

“Right?”

 

“Well, someone’s gotta go and like, actually check out to see that the coast is clear. Make sure there’s nobody holed up in the places that are supposed to be abandoned. And usually the only issues are mold and bad floors and one time there was this _massive_  group of beehives, and also sometimes rats, but. Yeah, that’s me. I gotta draw up a basic map and figure out the good roads and what’ll probably need repairs and that’s what I do.”

 

“...So you’re telling me you’re sent on _literal_  scouting missions?” Sniper asked, voice tinted high with disbelief.

 

“Yep. And it _sucks,_ ” Scout said emphatically. “At least being a sniper is like, a cool mercenary thing. Being a scout is fuckin’ _boring_.”

 

“Scout the scout,” Sniper said, buttoning up a shirt with practiced motions, nearly as smoothly as he could reload a gun.

 

“Sniper the sniper. Hey, so for your job thing do you ever have to like, rent hotel rooms and stuff? Do you gotta do the weird fake identity thing?”

 

“Sometimes,” Sniper said, back to playing the avoidance game. “This a round of twenty questions?”

 

Scout puffed out a noise of annoyance. “Maybe I just wanna have a conversation for once.”

 

“We have conversations,” Sniper protested, frowning.

 

“Well, maybe I just wanna have a conversation when we _haven’t_  just had our mouths full’a dicks.”

 

That very nearly got a smile out of Sniper. Very nearly. “About anything in particular?”

 

“I dunno, just... we only talk, like, right before or right after we do stuff. It... doesn’t that ever... y’know, bother you?”

 

Sniper hesitated in his folding work, taking a second to smooth out a wrinkle. “I... not... particularly,” he murmured, looking over at Scout. “I mean... friends with benefits, that’s how it works a lot of the time.”

 

“But... fuck, I dunno,” Scout finally said, moving to lie face down, head pillowed on his arms, his next words muffled. “Whatever. Like, I guess it just... it feels weird.”

 

Sniper looked at him for a few more seconds before he cautiously returned to his task.

 

Silence reigned for a little while. Sniper finished the folding, and started putting clothes away, and still Scout laid there, not moving.

 

“I’m gonna be gone for a little while,” Sniper finally said, hazarding a subject change. “Week or so. Then I’ll be back for a while, then gone again.”

 

Scout hummed in understanding, neutral. Silence again.

 

“You usually have missions? Or is it... on and off?”

 

“I’m leavin’ in like, two days,” Scout said, lifting his head just enough to answer before he plopped back down again.

 

“Hmm. Well, I’m less busy than usual this year.”

 

“What, is this you tryin’ to schedule a fuck session ahead of time?” Scout asked sarcastically into his arms. “Want me to write you in? Make an appointment?”

 

“Well I’ll be gone on Friday, so, just thought I would bring it up,” Sniper said, his own tone getting a little sharp now.

 

“Aw man,” Scout murmured. “I mean, good to know that’s an actual thing, the, uh, the Friday thing, but, aw man. Could you call?”

 

Sniper rolled his eyes. “Yes, because we want to have a conversation where one of us is in the middle of the hallway in the dead center of the base where anyone can see,” he drawled.

 

Scout lifted his head and glared at him. “It’s better than nothing!”

 

Sniper put the last shirt away, then leaned on the counter, crossed his arms as he looked up at Scout. “Mate, it’s not a good idea. You know it isn’t.”

 

Scout’s face was turning red. He buried it back in his arms again.

 

Sniper looked at him for a few seconds. “You’re really gonna just try and avoid the conversation by hiding?” he asked dryly.

 

Scout didn’t say anything. His ears were turning red.

 

“I’m not gonna call. It’s a bad idea and we both know it. I’ll just see you when we get back, but I’m not gonna phone you—I don’t know how you expect that to go well.”

 

“Please?” Scout tried, voice already quiet even before it was muffled by his arms, sounding suddenly very small. “I promise I won’t even talk for long, I just. I don’t wanna be left all alone at the base by myself for the whole weekend.”

 

...Damn him. Sniper was getting weak. He spent a few moments trying to push down the sympathy that was welling up in his chest.

 

“I—I would go home, but I’m not allowed to except for the holidays. And I hate bein’ left all alone. It gets all quiet and boring and I hate it. It’ll just be like _ten minutes_ , I promise! Then I’ll leave you alone again and you won’t have to put up with me until you get back again.”

 

“Fine.”

 

“And if you get mad you can just, like, just hang up on me! I swear I won’t—“

 

“I said _fine_ , love, fine,” Sniper cut in, a bit louder. “I’ll call. But the time difference will be a bastard, so I’ll be calling in the middle of the day, and I’ll only ring once.”

 

Scout looked over at him again, eyes wide. “Wait, really?” he asked, disbelieving, unbearably hopeful. “You’ll really call?”

 

“Yeah.” Sniper scrubbed a hand down over his face. “Yeah. I will. Promise.”

 

Scout sighed in relief, sagging a bit from it. “Thanks. You’re the best!” he said, too genuinely, too cheerfully, and all at once it was made apparent that this small kindness that Sniper was doing him was significantly more important than he’d let on.

 

Sniper just waved him off, moving on to his next chore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He’d hauled his bags (one for clothes, one for various weaponry) out front and was waiting for his ride when Scout found him.

 

“Hey!” Scout called, and Sniper turned, caught sight of Scout jogging out the door not far away. “Got a minute?”

 

Sniper checked his watch. His ride was due in half an hour, but it was likely it’d be more like forty minutes, transport almost always running late. “Or twenty,” he replied, shrugging lightly, eyes casting around briefly.

 

“Hey, uh,” Scout started, slowing to a stop in front of him, “I, uh. Could I... talk to you?”

 

Sniper’s eyebrows arched. “What about?” he asked cautiously.

 

“Nah, I meant, like...” Scout’s eyes flicked around their vicinity, and he ticked his head back towards the base. “Like, _talk_  to you. Y’know?”

 

Sniper’s eyebrows remained arched. “Pardon?”

 

Scout’s head tilted down a bit. “I... c’mon, man, do I gotta wink or somethin’?” he whined. “You know what I mean.”

 

Sniper leveled a look at Scout. “What’s this about?” he asked flatly. “Why this, all of a sudden?”

 

Scout glanced around them again. “I... look, can we talk—like, actually talk—about this inside?” he complained. “In private? You can say no, just, like, I don’t wanna talk about it... out here.”

 

Sniper understood that. “Fine. I’m going to ask questions, though,” he said, and moved past Scout towards the door.

 

Scout ended up leading the way to one of the storage rooms, a smaller one full of what seemed to be machine stock, undoubtedly in frequent use by Engie, going by how near it was to the garage. Sniper leaned on the wall while Scout fiddled with the lock, glancing over the area. This place, like large portions of the base, was just about unseen by him previously. He never had any reason nor inclination to investigate most of the rooms—he had what he needed in his camper, or the base’s kitchen. And it didn’t appear particularly interesting anyways—concrete floor, metal and wood shelving units, labeled cardboard boxes, sturdy door. Fairly standard.

 

And fairly private, which was probably necessary for a few different reasons just then.

 

“Alright. What’s this about?” Sniper asked again when Scout had finished fiddling with the rusty old locks on the door. “You know I’ve got to leave in half an hour.”

 

“Yeah, exactly,” Scout said, shoulder leaning against the door. “I dunno. Just figured, y’know, maybe it’d be a good idea to sort of, like, get some stuff out of my system before you go.”

 

Sniper raised an eyebrow in a silent request for elaboration. Scout just shrugged, glancing away. A few moments of silence reigned.

 

“Like, I just wanted to blow you, man, that’s all,” Scout finally mumbled to the concrete floor, ears going red.

 

Sniper considered him for a few moments. He really, truly didn’t know what Scout seemed to be getting at, but it was pretty clear that he didn’t want to explain any further. Was it worth pushing the matter? Or would that just waste time, which was, for once, something they were a bit short on? It occurred to Sniper just then that maybe Scout would be willing to talk a bit more after he’d gotten his little request—which was, admittedly, an offer Sniper would very much like to take him up on anyways. It seemed like Scout was rarely fully honest with Sniper unless he was in a fairly vulnerable position anyways. If Scout wouldn’t say it now, he might be able to say it then.

 

“Alright,” Sniper finally said. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

 

Scout breathed out, sagging slightly in obvious relief. “Okay. Yeah, okay,” he said, nodding to himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ten minutes later, Sniper no longer had the mental capacity to question Scout’s behavior. Mostly he was just concentrating on staying standing and not finishing too quickly. It felt too good for him to want it to be over.

 

He was leaned up against the door, eyes shut, one hand to the wall to help steady himself, the other buried in Scout’s hair, not pushing or pulling, just holding on for dear life, occasionally petting at his scalp when he found enough spare brain cells. His pants were low on his thighs and his shirt rucked up a bit and it occurred to him that it would probably wrinkle oddly down towards the bottom, but he didn’t particularly care just then. Not like the driver would be judging him.

 

He tilted his head forward to look down at Scout, who had his eyebrows screwed together with concentration as he focused on keeping Sniper well into his throat, and was letting out little noises of pleasure with every panting exhale through his nose.

 

He didn’t know what it was about this whole situation that made Scout so damn pleased, but it was certainly hot.

 

Scout pulled back for a moment, gasping in air, wiping at his chin with his forearm where spit had dribbled down. “Fuck,” he gasped, head tilting up to look at him for a moment, and Sniper caught sight of the way Scout was gripping himself through his pants, and then Scout went right back in again with no small amount of enthusiasm, mouth making all sorts of lewd noises as he set to work.

 

“Fuck,” Sniper agreed, his own voice threatening to crack.

 

He allowed himself a low groan as Scout’s free hand moved from its place gripping his hip to instead stroke up the inside part of his thigh. Then came an involuntary gasp as Scout pulled back again to kiss at the crease of pelvis and thigh, sucking the sensitive skin there for a few moments languidly, almost sloppy. Scout nipped at his thigh, sucked at his balls for a moment, then Sniper was desperately fighting to keep his legs from giving out because Scout sucked him right down to the root in a single motion.

 

A slight twitch in Scout’s hand against his leg as Scout struggled in trying not to choke. He pulled back up, swallowed hard, and tried again.

 

“Close,” Sniper managed to warn from between gritted teeth, the feeling jumping up into him all at once. “Close.”

 

Scout pulled back, hummed—in understanding? In encouragement?—and sunk right back down again.

 

He took one panting breath, another, the feeling of a thumb tracing over the line left in his skin where the inseam of his pants laid, and Sniper was gone.

 

By the time he had reasonable control over his breathing and had picked back together the scattered parts of his brain, Scout had also caught his breath, and was starting to use it to complain.

 

“God damn it,” he whined, and Sniper tipped his head forward to see what was wrong. Scout was glaring down at the front of his shirt. He looked up to instead glare at Sniper, who felt an aftershock pang through him at the sight of cum on his chin, some dripped onto his collar. “You’re lucky there’s nobody ever out around this way, and that half the base is gone, man. Otherwise I would be pissed instead’a just peeved.” His throat was rough from misuse, and he cleared it once, hard.

 

“Dangers of givin’ out blowies, mate,” Sniper shrugged, half heartedly attempting to fight back a grin as he went about pulling his clothes back into their proper places. “Pull off too early, s’what you get. Rookie mistake, really.”

 

“Yeah, well, next time tell me the lesson _before_  I get to the demonstration, oh wise dick-sucking sensei,” Scout said sarcastically, standing back up and plucking at Sniper’s shirt to make it sit correctly. “Gonna have to be next time, though.”

 

Sniper glanced down at the front of Scout’s pants, bulge fairly visible even given how baggy they were. “What about...?” he started hesitantly. “We’ve got time for you too.”

 

Scout rolled his eyes, taking Sniper’s forearm and lifting his wrist to look at his watch, checking the time. “You’re supposed to be out there in like, not even ten minutes. There’s no way.”

 

Sniper raised an eyebrow. “That a challenge?”

 

“Seriously,” Scout insisted, a bit more firmly, adjusting his belt. “I’m good. You should get going.”

 

“Like you said. Nearly ten minutes. S’enough time to at least talk a bit, aren’t it?” Sniper said, shrugging, leaning against the wall.

 

Scout adjusted his belt again and pushed his hands into his back pockets. “Uh, sure. What about?”

 

“Th’reason you just dragged me off to a supply closet somewhere t’give out a gobby without askin’ for anythin’ in return right before I head out for a week or so,” Sniper said lightly.

 

Scout looked surprised, then looked away, and Sniper watched as he quickly worked to fight down that expression. “Uh. Just figured, y’know.” He went to look at Sniper, but only made it to his shoulder before he had to look back down at the floor again. “I just wanted to, okay?”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because... I dunno, I, I figured...” He was going red. “Well, I dunno, because I’m not gonna see you for a little while, right? Not gonna have the chance to do this for a little while. Usually see you—like, sneak off somewhere to do whatever it is we do—at least once every few days. An’ we’ll probably be back at it when you get back again, but, I dunno.”

 

Sniper looked over Scout’s face. “And that’s all it is?”

 

“Yeah, that’s all.”

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

Scout pouted, a valiant attempt. “Aw, c’mon. Really, that’s all.”

 

Sniper paused, thinking for a few moments. “Is it that you did somethin’, and don’t want me gettin’ pissed off when I come back?” he asked.

 

“No,” Scout mumbled.

 

“Did you _not_  do somethin’, and I’m gonna have to cover for you at some point?”

 

“ _No_ , look, I—“ Scout dragged a hand through his hair fretfully, still not looking at him. “I just feel weird that I’m makin’ you call, okay? That’s it.”

 

Sniper frowned, trying to parse that out, and to figure out how to reply.

 

Scout didn’t give him time to. “Whatever, it’s—you’ve gotta go. We can talk about stuff later, alright?”

 

“Scout—“ Sniper began, but he was already flicking the locks, pulling the door open, and making his way off down the hall, the door and Sniper’s mouth just slightly open in his wake.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sniper hated phone calls, had always hated phone calls, would always hate phone calls. He foresaw the conversation he was gearing up to have as being nothing more than a way to keep the peace. That said, he didn’t even really have the energy to be annoyed. It was late, and he was tired, and he was halfway across the world from his van, and quite frankly, he was a bit stressed out.

 

It helped that he was staying in a tiny rental house instead of a motel where he would need to track down a payphone somewhere, the place he was staying being part of the false identity that he’d been given. If the police were to ask, according to all records he’d been living there for a few months while working on a “project”, and would be “suddenly leaving” as a result of a family emergency two days before his target was due dead.

 

The house was cozy, if musty and stiff, and had a phone with a cord long enough to use while laying on the bed, which Sniper severely needed to do after a day’s worth of faking and lying and setting up alibis in passing while also plotting out his escape routes for the hit he would be doing.

 

The phone rang twice before it was picked up, just enough time for Sniper to take a seat.

 

“Hello?” came a very, very familiar voice, and Sniper relaxed minutely.

 

“It’s me,” he said simply.

 

“Awesome!” Scout said enthusiastically. “I mean, I figured it was probably you, since we don’t exactly have many incoming calls and you said you would call, like what are the odds that it’d be someone else just so happening to call at the exact same time, y’know? That’d be pretty weird.”

 

It took a whole three seconds into the call for Scout to start rambling, Sniper noted, letting himself grin. And, as a secondary note, Sniper realized all at once that he’d actually kind of missed it.

 

Huh.

 

“Pretty weird,” Sniper agreed, shifting to lie down, mindful of the phone cord. “I forget what time it is there.”

 

“It’s only like, four maybe?” Scout said. “Why, what about you?”

 

“One o’clock in the bloody morning,” Sniper drawled, head ticking back to look at the clock on the wall. “And I’m hardly tired.”

 

“You’re always tired, though,” Scout joked.

 

“Yeah, that’s your doing, though,” Sniper joked back, mimicking Scout’s tone.

 

“Aww, what?” Scout squawked, mock-offended. “What’d I do?”

 

“Only spend at least a third of the week tryin’ to suck me dry,” Sniper said, managing to hold back a laugh.

 

“Pfff, shut up, man,” Scout laughed. “Hey, but did anything exciting happen yet?”

 

“Not even a little,” Sniper sighed. “At least on the base, even the exciting things are predictable. Out here, it’s all new, but none of it’s interesting.”

 

Scout hummed on the other end of the phone, the line crackling. “Well, no exciting things over here either. So, not like you’re, uh. Missing anything.”

 

“Good to know.”

 

Scout breathed a sigh, quietly, as if hoping the phone wouldn’t pick it up. “I seriously hate being alone on the base. Fuckin’ sucks.”

 

“Why’s that? Besides... y’know, your whole ‘people’ thing,” Sniper asked.

 

“I just—I get all, like, paranoid. It’s just so _quiet_  and _empty_. Freaks me out. There’s all this space with nothin’—with, with no one else in it. And I start to like, _wonder_ , how would I know if anything else, if any _one_  else, was in here? Lot of empty space to try and watch, y’know? If there was somethin’ else around here, I, I might not even know. I—fuck, I’m spookin’ myself out about it again.”

 

“We do kill people, you realize,” Sniper said slowly. “I imagine if anyone was lurkin’ about, you’d be equipped to handle them.”

 

“Nah, in my head it’s not even usually people. Or, not _entirely_  people. I—I dunno.”

 

Sniper was quiet, waiting for Scout to continue talking, knowing the lull in conversation was something he’d itch to fill. Sure enough, it was only a second before he was going off.

 

“Like in my head it’s always just this big shadowy thing with like, big big eyes, like saucers. No pupils, just big white circles. And sometimes it’s too many legs, or sometimes the legs are way too long, or sometimes the legs are normal but the claws are too long—and it’s like weirdly stilted in how it moves, and it just stares? Just keeps starin’? I dunno _what_  the fuck it is, just, whenever I’m sittin’ somewhere in the base I start spookin’ myself out because I’ll just think, “oh, man, what if you looked up and it was starin’ at you from that dark doorway?” and obviously now I _gotta look_  at the doorway because shit, what if it is? Like, an’ I’m especially pissed because, fuck, thing isn’t even real, it’s just the thing my dumb head invented to freak me out as much as possible, right? Like, shit, couldn’t even be scared of somethin’ real. Like—you said it, we kill people. We die. All the time. And here I am scared of _nothin’_. Pisses me off.”

 

As Scout spoke, Sniper’s eyes drifted up to the doorway to the room he was in. Admittedly, what Scout was describing was... unnerving. “What do you think it _does?”_ Sniper asked. “The shadowy bugger?”

 

“I don’t even know. Fuckin’ stares, first of all. Dunno. When—here’s the thing, I’ve tried to think about that, but literally the concept of it comin’ towards me is as far as I get before I gotta shut down thinkin’ about it.”

 

“Sounds like one of those kid horror stories,” Sniper said, eyes drifting to the window now. “Where instead’a some bloke followin’ someone home an’ axe murdering them, it’s somethin’ imaginary so mum and dad can say “oh well it’s not real”. As if that helps. Back when stories were about proper monsters, back before the worst monsters turned out to mostly just be other people.”

 

Silence for longer than the delay. “Dude, couldn’t’a had a pen and paper to write that down. That’s... a good fuckin’ line. Sounds like a movie trailer.”

 

Sniper shrugged, then remembered Scout couldn’t see that. “Suppose,” he said. “But either way, what exactly do you think gets solved about the imaginary thing when there’s other folks around?”

 

“I dunno, more eyes? Less places for it to hide? That maybe if I scream real loud there’s a chance someone hears me and, like, knows I’m dead? I dunno, I get that none’a this dumb shit makes sense.” A deep breath from the other end of the line. “Just. Fuck, wish my brain didn’t try and trick me into thinking every time I blink, when I open my eyes again all I’ll see is...”

 

He trailed off. It took Sniper a long moment to break the silence.

 

“Mate, don’t know if this’ll help, me sayin’ this, but... s’not real. Not gonna hurt you.”

 

Scout sighed again, more audibly this time. “Yeah... yeah, it’s. I mean, that more helps, like... like the fact that you’re tryin’ to help, that does make me feel better, than... than whatever you could’ve said. I, uh, I appreciate it.”

 

Sniper didn’t quite understand, to be honest, but he hummed anyways.

 

“Uh. Otherwise, not much goin’ on,” Scout said after a second. “M’bored. Demo turned up from some mission for like two hours, and we got hammered then he left again. He kinda sassed me over the fact that I was drinking. They do that.”

 

“Well, you don’t drink much,” Sniper said, carefully tilting onto his back, keeping an eye on the phone cord as he did, shifting slightly so as to not pull the phone from the wall. “So, I expect that’s got a bit to do with it.”

 

“Maybe. Hey, uh...” Scout paused for a few seconds. “Hey, do you think you... I mean, if we’ve got time, we could, like, maybe head off base. Go to some town, get drinks. I’m super bored.”

 

“Hmm.” Sniper considered the question. “That place with the, er, where we got lunch, the town with the sex shop, they’ve got bars, don’t they?”

 

“Uh. Y-yeah, that... yeah, they do. The, yeah. They have two.”

 

“Awright. We’ll see once I get back. Might have more prep work cut out for me, but if not, sure.”

 

“Sweet!” Scout said, sounding excited. And then there was a pause, broken only by the very light sound of their breathing. It extended onwards for a good bit before Scout broke it. “I, uh. I should...”

 

“...Go?” Sniper tried after another pause, hesitant.

 

“Uh, no, I should... apologize.”

 

“What’d you do?” Sniper sighed.

 

“Just—I know I’m probably bein’ like, weird. With the... y’know, with, makin’ you call and runnin’ off on you an’ then havin’ this whole weird conversation about whatever, I just, I’m...” Scout sighed. “Look, just, if you want me to like, shut up more, I can do that.”

 

“Scout, dunno how many times I’m gonna need to say this, but really, I don’t mind it,” Sniper said. “Really. You’re fine. It’s alright.”

 

There was a long pause between them.

 

“Mate, if there’s something you need to talk to me about...” Sniper said to break the pause.

 

“It’s... sort of? It’s complicated.” Scout made a little noise of irritation. “It’s just complicated. Maybe _I_  just want me to shut up more. I dunno.”

 

“Why’s that?” Sniper asked, a little surprised.

 

“Like, I’m sort of like—fuck, I say ‘like’ a lot don’t I?—I just, I’m caught in this space in the middle of sort of... wanting people to know and get everything about me, but also I don’t want anyone to know _anything_  about me, y’know?”

 

Sniper wasn’t sure if he related to that. Nobody really knew him.

 

“It’s dumb and weird, okay? That’s—to summarize, it’s dumb and weird. And it’s pissing me off.”

 

“Seems like a lot is pissing you off.”

 

A laugh, but a bitter one. “I know, right?”

 

Sniper didn’t know what else to add to that.

 

“Look, it’s late for you, I’m, I’m not gonna keep you trapped with me on the line any longer,” Scout said after a second. “Thanks for uh... thanks.”

 

“Thanks?” Sniper repeated.

 

“Y’know, for callin’ me. For... all the stuff. All the stuff you do.”

 

“Dunno why you’re thanking me for treating you with basic kindness, but awright, thanks accepted,” Sniper said, letting humor into his tone.

 

“Hah, yeah. Uh, anyways. Later,” Scout said.

 

Sniper barely had time to say a goodbye before he heard the phone clack into its cradle on the other end.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The relief that settled over Sniper the moment he stepped into his camper was instant and extremely comforting, washing from him the lingering stress of his mission and the following plane ride. He dumped his bag next to the table, deciding to deal with unpacking his clothes later, and set about opening the windows to let in some fresh air.

 

Windows opened, he set about doing the required maintenance on the weaponry he used, an important step to make sure he didn’t damage his things. He already felt on edge about having left it as it was from the time of his contract being fulfilled to him getting back to the base.

 

He was in the middle or reassembling his rifle, the last thing he’d checked, when there was a rapid knock on his door.

 

When he opened the door, he was only a little bit surprised to see Scout standing there, a little red-faced and breathing hard, and most notably, out of uniform.

 

“Hey,” he said breathlessly, looking more surprised than Sniper did. His t-shirt was soaked in sweat, and his running shorts were, for lack of a better word, short. “You’re back.”

 

“I’m back,” Sniper agreed.

 

Scout wiped at his forehead with his wrist. “I was out running, and I, I saw the windows open,” he explained, still panting lightly, pointing at the windows in question. “Thought you weren’t, like, supposed to be back yet?”

 

“I aced things the first time, and didn’t need to spend time lying low, so I got back early,” Sniper explained.

 

“Oh,” Scout said, nodding to himself. “Right. That makes sense.”

 

They stood there for another long moment before Sniper sighed. “Just get in here,” he said, turning and moving into the camper.

 

Scout followed without further questions.

 

The door closed, and in the space of a moment, Sniper was leaned against the wall, Scout pressing up into his space, hands starting to settle on him as his breath brushed Sniper’s neck.

 

“Missed you,” Scout said quietly, and stilled for a moment. “Is that weird?”

 

“No,” Sniper said, his own hands settling on Scout’s waist, allowing him to start setting to work on the buttons of his shirt. “Not weird. Missed you too.”

 

“Really?” Scout asked, voice muffled slightly against Sniper’s newly exposed collarbone, sounding genuinely surprised.

 

“Yeah. Job was boring,” Sniper said simply, moving to shuck Scout’s shirt up and off, the shorter man clearly overheated in it. “And you’re fun.”

 

Scout was too busy kissing a line up Sniper’s neck to reply to that.

 

Sniper bent forward to allow Scout easier access, and also to smooth hands up the back of Scout’s thighs, pushing up the fabric of those already-terribly-short running shorts to cup at sensitive skin, and Scout made a soft, needy sound in response.

 

“What do you want me to do?” Sniper asked lowly into Scout’s ear.

 

Scout disconnected, taking a moment to breathe, then shook his head. “I don’t care. I, I don’t care. Just fuck me up,” he said, pressing forward, insistent, more direct than he usually allowed. “Anything.”

 

Sniper stopped, pulled back a bit. “Anything?” he repeated, disbelieving.

 

Scout nodded, face hidden against Sniper’s neck where he was still having his fun tasting the skin there.

 

“I don’t think you mean that,” Sniper said slowly.

 

“Yes I do,” Scout insisted, finished unbuttoning and untucking Sniper’s shirt, smoothing hands up his sides.

 

“ _Anything?_  Then about you try an’ fuck me again?” Sniper suggested flatly.

 

Scout froze up.

 

“Yeah. Thought so.” Sniper pushed Scout back enough to look at him in the eye. “Mate, you can’t just say “anything”, not unless we set some boundaries. Really.”

 

Scout was starting to look flustered now. “Look, I don’t need a lecture, aight?” he said, brows furrowing.

 

Sniper exhaled, studied Scout’s face for a long moment. He was a bit flushed, and visibly frustrated, that frustration fading into nervousness with each moment that Sniper went without speaking.

 

Finally, Sniper just leaned forward to kiss him, and those emotions melted away, leaving behind... something Sniper couldn’t quite name. “You’re tired,” Sniper observed. “And sweaty, and fresh off a run. Go take care of that, and come back in an hour or so if you want to.”

 

“But—“ Scout started, and stopped again. Chewed on his lip, eyes falling.

 

“But?” Sniper prompted.

 

“I miss you,” Scout said quietly, gaze falling further.

 

Sniper exhaled. “I know. Just an hour, that’s all I’m asking,” he said, and kissed Scout again. When he pulled away, Scout looked a little less downcast. “Run along. I should unpack anyways.”

 

“Okay,” Scout said quietly. He moved to the door, opened it, stepped out. “Bye, I—“

 

This stalling was much more abrupt, less a trailing off than a sudden ceasing of air. Sniper frowned at how tense Scout seemed. “What?” he asked, partially curious, partially worried.

 

Scout huffed out a sigh, not looking at him. “I’ll tell you later. Bye.”

 

And the door was shut.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[literally when will i fucking learn to just follow the outline like when will i even learn]]


	4. Unnamed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[the camera cuts to me, sighing at the word count, then going in to edit, then ending up with an even longer word count, then sighing again.]]

 

 

Scout did end up coming back later, still in those running shorts, mood very different than when he’d showed up the first time. Sniper had insisted from the moment Scout entered the camper again that hell, they didn’t even necessarily need to do anything if Scout was too tuckered out, but they did wind up like that anyways.

 

Soon enough Scout was sitting on the table, and Sniper had a lube-slicked hand around both of their cocks, jerking and rocking in equal measure, quite enjoying the way Scout scrabbled at his shoulders in a desperate bid to remain upright and not just fall backwards onto the table.

 

The slap of their sweat-slicked thighs colliding would’ve been noisesome if it wasn’t so hot.

 

“Oh god,” Scout managed, body being rocked with Sniper’s motions, and in the reflection of the window Sniper could see that his toes were curling.

 

The feeling of their balls colliding with each thrust of his hips made Sniper’s legs quiver, and a shiver go through Scout in turn. “God,” he agreed, breathless.

 

“Gonna—gonna make me come,” Scout warned. “Gonna come.”

 

Sniper nodded, unable to catch his breath enough to reply, and redoubled his efforts.

 

Scout came first (as was often the case), spilling over his own stomach, hips jerking sporadically and weakly as he practically whimpered, clinging to Sniper with blunt nails hard enough to make Sniper hiss.

 

He kept thrusting, and it wasn’t much longer before he, too, was jittering, shuddering, spilling out over Scout’s stomach.

 

Sniper’s motions stalled out, and they were left panting, Scout’s breath hot against Sniper’s neck. Sniper released their dicks, using the back of his hand as he leaned on the tabletop, trying to keep his balance.

 

Sniper caught his breath first, and glanced down to get a look at the mess, and then glanced back at Scout, leaning back a bit. “You’re still hard,” he commented.

 

Scout glanced down at himself, back up again sheepishly. “Sorry,” he mumbled, curling in on himself a bit.

 

“Don’t be,” Sniper said, standing up a bit further, and he used the hand still slick with lube to tease at Scout’s entrance with two fingers, the other hand gripping at his cock loosely.

 

Scout jolted, looking up at Sniper with confusion, squirming a bit in the discomfort of overstimulation. “Hey, what’re— _oh!”_ He cried out as Sniper slid his index finger inside, starting to grip at Scout in earnest, jerking twice and chuckling at the way Scout whined.

 

“Good?” he asked, eyeing the conflicting expressions flitting across Scout’s face.

 

He took a second to try and get his bearings, collecting himself only enough to speak, shaking his head weakly. “It’s—it’s too much, too sensitive, I—fuck, fuck—“

 

Sniper paused all motion, loosening his grip on Scout’s dick, other hand going still. “D’you want me to stop?” he asked hesitantly after a second.

 

A pause, Scout choking on air. “No,” he decided. “Keep going. Just, just, be careful.”

 

Sniper’s expression softened despite himself. “Planned on it,” he murmured, and continued on.

 

By the time Scout came again, Sniper was losing feeling in his arm from Scout clutching it so tightly. He moved both hands (wiped clean on a towel he’d put nearby) to Scout’s waist, holding him while he came down from the aftershocks, still shaking.

 

“Good?” Sniper asked.

 

Scout just nodded, pulling Sniper in to wrap arms around his neck, holding him close through another bout of shivering.

 

“So you missed me, did you?” he asked, tracing shapes on Scout’s waist.

 

Scout hummed in agreement.

 

“Feel any better now?”

 

Scout hummed in agreement.

 

Sniper laughed, pushing him back to look Sniper in the eye. “C’mon now, real words,” he urged, pushing Scout’s hair away from his face.

 

“Don’t feel like it,” Scout protested, pouting, leaning into Sniper’s hand, eyes falling closed.

 

Sniper laughed again, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of Scout’s mouth, which twitched upwards in response. “You’re adorable.”

 

He went right back to pouting. “I’m a grown man.”

 

“An absolutely precious grown man,” Sniper amended.

 

“That’s better.” Scout’s head tipped forward to rest against Sniper, starting to relax. “What’re you doing tomorrow?”

 

“Sleeping late, finishing my unpacking when the last of my gear gets delivered, checking to see when I ship out again,” Sniper replied.

 

Scout sagged a little. “Oh,” he said.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because... we had that talk. About maybe gettin’ drinks or somethin’.”

 

Sniper paused, hummed to himself. “Well, I imagine I’ll be alright to do something in the evening the day after tomorrow,” he conceded. “I’ll likely be back on a better sleep schedule by then.”

 

Scout was quiet for a second. “You don’t gotta rush or nothin’—“ he started to say.

 

“Wasn’t rushing. Wouldn’t go unless I wanted to, you do realize.”

 

Scout managed a nod, and nothing else.

 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Sniper said after a second.

 

“Yeah, okay.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sniper wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from Scout, and ended up just putting on the slightly nicer choices out of his few civilian clothes. Scout surprised him by having dressed up, a shirt with buttons and a messy attempt at a tie that he continued to pick at, and a pair of pants and shoes that didn’t quite fit with the niceness of his upper half but looked well taken care of regardless.

 

That, alongside an almost flippant level of carelessness when Scout suggested Sniper be the designated driver out of the two of them, gave Sniper the impression that there wouldn’t be much heavy drinking involved with their trip to the bar. That meant he parked the car—Scout’s, the man almost insisting Sniper drive, partly because he was proud of how nice it was—a way down the road, on account of the road near the bar being busy and the car itself being rather nice, imagining that he and Scout wouldn’t have a particular problem with their walking back to it later.

 

He was wrong.

 

“Can you please _try_  an’ walk, at least?” Sniper griped, shrugging Scout further upwards as he slumped again in Sniper’s grip. The man was hardly supporting his own weight, lackadaisical and careless, sloppy in a way that Sniper found almost alarming.

 

“What, am I pissing you off?”

 

“No, you just really can’t handle your liquor,” Sniper replied, a little sharply as he stumbled once more.

 

“I can too! I drank a _lot_.”

 

“So I noticed.”

 

“And I’m not even that drunk!”

 

“Compared to what?”

 

“To...” Scout trailed a bit for a moment. “Last time.”

 

“Last time?” Sniper repeated, hefting Scout to try and get him over the lip of the sidewalk.

 

“I got fucked up last time. With being drunk. This time I’m—look, I’m walkin’! Fuck else you want from me?” Scout’s words started slurring somewhere along the line.

 

Admittedly, part of his grumpiness was out of guilt. Sniper hadn’t really been paying much attention to how much Scout was drinking. He’d stepped out three times over the course of the night, once to smoke, once to use the restroom, and once more to smoke when he found himself jonesing for liquor. Apparently Scout had really been putting away shots in the time when Sniper stepped out.

 

Sniper watched their step. “What I want from you currently is for you to walk better.”

 

“Nah.”

 

“ _Scout_ ,” Sniper said sharply.

 

“Tha’s not even my name, so you can fuckin’, quit tellin’ me what to do with that,” Scout said haughtily, standing up a bit straighter, leaning a little less heavily on Sniper. “Not happenin’.”

 

“Don’t tell me your real name,” Sniper said even more sharply. “You’ll regret tellin’ it to me.”

 

“I don’t ever regret _anything_ ,” Scout protested. “An’ I wasn’t gonna tell you. That’s dumb. You gotta _guess_.”

 

“Right,” Sniper said, rolling his eyes.

 

“I’m only gonna give you one hint though! Because you’re like, weird, and know a lot. And would probably guess too fast if I gave you more hints. So only the one.”

 

“Lucky me,” Sniper deadpanned, deciding to ignore the insult there in the middle.

 

“Okay. It starts with the letter “J”. That’s your hint. Go.”

 

Sniper sighed lightly, lightly enough that he was sure Scout wouldn’t notice. “God, real enlightening there, aye? How many guesses do I get, then?”

 

“Until you get it right.”

 

“Jack,” Sniper said, figuring he might as well just play along, absolutely certain that he wouldn’t be able to guess.

 

“Nope!”

 

“Jacques.”

 

“You jus’ said Jack.”

 

“Right. Then I said “Jacques”. Different name.”

 

“That’s just Jack but dumb.”

 

“Oi, be nice,” Sniper chided. “Okay, then James.”

 

“Nope. You suck at this.”

 

“I’ve guessed three names!”

 

“And they’re all dumb. Do I look like a James?” Scout asked, grinning at him almost too widely.

 

“You look like you’re drunk.”

 

“I’m not even that drunk! You’re an asshole. Why do I talk to you?”

 

“I could ask you the same.”

 

“Because I’m cute an’ I’m fun an’ I let you fuck me,” Scout said cheerfully without hesitating, clinging to Sniper’s shoulder a bit more tightly.

 

“Volume,” Sniper said under his breath, glancing at the door to a restaurant as they passed by it.

 

“Or what?” Scout goaded, leaning into him suddenly and sending him a bit off balance, and he barely caught the two of them before they stumbled off the sidewalk.

 

“Scout. Knock it off,” Sniper said.

 

“That doesn’t even have a “J” in it. Not even close.”

 

“Scout, I’m serious. You’re going to start _actually_  getting on my nerves here in a moment,” Sniper warned under his breath, shooting him a look.

 

“Yeah? An’ what’re you gonna do?” Scout prodded, grin lopsided but no less flirtatious.

 

“I dunno,” Sniper said shortly.

 

“You should fuck me over it,” Scout prodded further, leaning into him and sending him off balance again.

 

Sniper took a few seconds to take a long, deep breath before he answered. “No. I’m not gonna do that. You’re completely smashed.”

 

“And what _about_  it?” Scout insisted, voice getting whiny now. “Come on! I got all dressed good an’ everything. I look all nice.”

 

“And here I thought that was because you _liked_  me,” Sniper teased, readjusting Scout’s arm over his shoulder again.

 

“Well yeah, but you’re not supposed to know about that. So shut up.” Scout shook out his head as if dispelling something. “Anyways. Seriously.”

 

“You’re drunk,” Sniper repeated.

 

“So?”

 

“ _So_ , that’d be _wrong_. No matter how many times we’ve slept together.”

 

“Who cares?” Scout asked, frustration rising. “Does that even matter? We’re dudes.”

 

Sniper drew a hand over his own face, dragging Scout along to the passenger seat of the car they’d taken to get to town as they arrived at it—Scout’s, some stupidly fast model. It suited him.

 

“C’mon,” Scout egged him on, even as he was pushed to sit down in the passenger seat.

 

“Scout, I won’t say it again. You’re drunk. I’m not going to sleep with you. End _of_ ,” Sniper insisted, buckling him in and pulling it tight.

 

“Like that stops anyone!”

 

Sniper huffed, more in irritation than humor, at what he was fairly certain was a joke made in _horrible_  taste, circling to get in the driver’s seat. “Drop it,” he said firmly as he slammed the door shut again, sticking the key in the engine and listening to the way it revved.

 

Scout leaned over the gear shift, a hand landing almost clumsily at Sniper’s inner thigh. “Please?” Scout pleaded, pouting in earnest.

 

Sniper batted his hand away, twisting the key again to shut the car off, turning to look at Scout, expression sour. Scout just looked right back at him.

 

“Scout?” he asked, voice firm. “If you’re gonna keep at this, let me put it this way. I don’t care if you think you can give consent right now. Because I don’t think you can. I think that if I did just about anything with you right now, I’d be taking advantage of you. And so _I’m_  not giving consent. That’s that. Are we clear?”

 

Scout’s expression went from a playful, flirty pout to downright stricken in the space of a few moments, withdrawing to press his back to the door of the car.

 

Sniper used the new silence to start the car again, eyes turning to the road.

 

Ten minutes of drive passed before Scout next spoke. “I’m sorry,” he said, sounding borderline tearful.

 

Guilt, like a knife between his upper vertebrae. “It’s alright,” he replied quietly.

 

“I didn’t mean to... to...” He trailed off.

 

Sniper didn’t look at him. “It’s alright,” he repeated. “I’m not angry. Just... frustrated.”

 

“Really,” Scout insisted. “I don’t wanna do that to you. That’s fucked up. And I’m sorry. I just... I thought maybe if I was drunk, I wouldn’t be freaked out.”

 

Sniper frowned, glancing at Scout for a moment. “Freaked out?”

 

“Like that one time.” The pain in Scout’s voice was growing. He’d curled up at some point, holding his knees to his chest. He sniffled. “I thought maybe if I just drank a little an’ tried it again I wouldn’t be scared anymore. But instead I just...”

 

Sniper’s eyes fell, staring at the speedometer for a few moments. “Look, I don’t...” He took a moment to sort out his words. “I don’t know what happened to you to make you get so nervous. Won’t pretend I can even guess. But god’s sake, have a higher opinion of me. I’m not gonna try an’ get you to fuck me when you’re so smashed I’m fairly certain you won’t even remember it.” He sighed bitterly. “Hell, I’m not even sure you’ll remember _this._ ”

 

Scout paused. “I’m really drunk, huh?” he mumbled.

 

“Extremely.”

 

In his periphery, he saw Scout start to reach out towards him, only to hesitate. His hand dropped again. “Look, I, I don’t wanna wake up to...”

 

Sniper waited for the next part of that sentence. It didn’t come. “Wake up to what?”

 

Scout curled in on himself tighter. “If I’m asleep, don’t do anything, okay?”

 

Sniper frowned. “Didn’t plan on it,” he said slowly.

 

Scout sniffled again. Wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “Fuck. Usually alcohol makes stuff suck less,” he mumbled. “Now I just feel sadder _and_  dumber.”

 

Sniper frowned further. “Thought you didn’t drink much.”

 

“I didn’t,” Scout confirmed. “I do now, though. It helps.”

 

Sniper wasn’t even sure where to start with that.

 

Scout leaned his head against the door. “You never guessed my name,” he said.

 

Sniper’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Don’t tell it to me,” he replied firmly.

 

“Why not? You’re not guessing it anyways.”

 

“Because when you wake up in the morning, assumin’ you remember this, you’re gonna regret telling it to me. You’re probably gonna regret a _lot_  of this,” Sniper informed him. “Like you regretted telling me to bite you.”

 

“I didn’t regret you biting me,” Scout protested quietly. “It just looked too much like the other time. And I forgot which side I didn’t want it on because mirrors are weird.”

 

Sniper didn’t understand. Silence fell in the car.

 

“Are you mad?” Scout asked after a second.

 

Sniper deflated. “No, I’m not mad. I just... wish you’d talk to me. Not now,” he said quickly when Scout inhaled as if to speak. “Later. Some other time. When you’re sober.”

 

Scout nodded to himself. “Okay. We can talk,” he agreed. A pause. “You really don’t wanna know my name, though?”

 

Sniper realized just then that he’d never really considered that. _Did_  he want to know?

 

“If you have something you really want to tell me, tell me sober,” was all he said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They didn’t have that talk the next morning, mostly because he took Scout to sleep in his own room, a bucket and two bottles of water and some painkillers next to his bed for when he woke up with a hangover. He didn’t help Scout get pajamas on, just pulling him free of his shoes, tie, and belt, then tucking him in, and headed off to his own place to sleep. He figured that would freak Scout out slightly less.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sniper was stopped in the garage on the way to check up on Scout the following afternoon.

 

It was Engie. He was in the middle of working on his truck, the hood popped open and a set of tools on a bench nearby while he fiddled. Maybe it was just a tune-up, or maybe he was adding something, or maybe working on something he’d added. Only Engie knew.

 

“Howdy, Stretch,” the man greeted cordially, flicking the brim of his hat up to look at him.

 

“G’day Truckie,” Sniper replied, no less polite. “Working on your time off?”

 

“Takin’ time off of work,” Engie replied, patting at some part or another. “This here’s just a pet project.”

 

“Fair enough,” Sniper shrugged, headed towards the door to the inside part of the base.

 

He paused when he heard Engie clear his throat, glancing back again. The older man was still leaned almost casually, propped up, albeit with a fist raised towards his face to cough into. It all was very deliberate, in a way that made Sniper continue to pause.

 

“So, you and Scooter went out drinkin’ last night,” Engie said lightly.

 

Sniper settled in a little bit. “Yeah. We did.”

 

“Might I ask where, if that’s alright?”

 

“Forepeak,” Sniper shrugged. “That place off the main road.”

 

“And you didn’t happen to get into any trouble, did you?” Engie asked next, tilting his head slightly, fitting the bill of slightly-disapproving parent in his posture and tone. “What with you two gettin’ back awful late and all.”

 

“Not with anyone else, no. Had a bit of a bicker, though, nothin’ worth worryin’ about,” Sniper said, seeing no reason to lie.

 

Engie nodded to himself. “I was just wonderin’, because, y’know. Haven’t seen much of Scout today,” he intimated quietly. “Just worried that the kid was avoidin’ me because he got into trouble again.”

 

“Probably just dealin’ with a hangover,” Sniper replied simply. “S’why I’m headed over. Wanted to check on ‘im. Make sure he drinks water, all that.”

 

Engie nodded, and there was a slight shift in his expression. “Hangover, huh?” he repeated.

 

“Yep.”

 

“That’ll be tough for him to deal with,” Engie mused, leaning his weight further. “He doesn’t drink much.” He tilted his head. “Or, he _didn’t_ , at least.”

 

Sniper’s eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Here’s the deal, Stretch,” Engie said, voice lowered, both in tone and volume. “You’re a grown man, I’ll be straight with you. Scooter’s also a grown man, only a few years younger than you, even. He’d grown, he can make his own choices, his own decisions. That said, he really does listen to other folks an awful lot, cares about people’s opinions on him an awful lot. And since he’s started headed out to hang out with you more, he’s been actin’ brand new.”

 

Sniper shifted on his feet.

 

“What’ve you been doin’, Sniper?” Engie asked, words light, tone dark. “Scout didn’t used to act like this. He hung around with Demo sometimes, but now they’re both gettin’ blackout drunk every other night instead’a just the Scot. Scout used to like headed out, but now he always comes back with either liquor, somethin’ he doesn’t wanna tell me about, or both. He used to be up a ways after some of the others, but he was always around the base for it, not out in town until late into the night. It’s only been since he started bein’ our around you more that this happened. I’m an engineer, a man of science, I can’t help but start connection’ dots, seein’ patterns, and the patterns I’m seein’ don’t look too good for you.”

 

Sniper’s shoulders slumped. “I see how it might look bad,” he admitted. “But... honest, I don’t know why he’s been acting this way. There’s somethin’ goin’ on in that head of his, and I can’t figure it out for the life of me. He just won’t talk to me. Some point after we started...” He tried to think of a good, non-truth word for what they did. “... _talking_ , whatever you’d call him hangin’ about, he started acting strange, almost cagey. I’m not sure what’s wrong, the only time he’ll tell me even little things is when he’s been drinking or he’s half asleep, and then come the next day he regrets opening his mouth.”

 

Engie’s expression didn’t shift. “And why should I believe you?” he asked, more blunt than he usually allowed. “Why should I believe that you really aren’t actin’ a bad influence on the boy?”

 

Sniper shrugged, hands in his pockets. “If you want, you can ask ‘im,” he said. “And if he tells you anything about what’s wrong, could you ask ‘im to pass it along? I really would like to know, so I can at least try not to make things worse.”

 

Engie relaxed minutely. “Will do.” There was a solemn pause in the garage. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Go on, make sure the boy’s still breathing.”

 

Sniper tipped his hat and moved along.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Scout was alright, other than a headache and a bit of nausea. He didn’t say much. He didn’t say much the next day either, or the next day. Sniper stopped by to inform him that he was leaving again the next day. Scout nodded. Sniper received no additional goodbyes the next morning.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A break from contracts. Sniper asked to try something odd.

 

Scout was working on getting his shoes off, and looked hesitant as Sniper stood up and went to one of his drawers, retrieving an opaque bag that both of them well remembered.

 

Sniper pulled a set of cuffs from it. In the next instant, Scout had his back to the wall.

 

“No,” he said firmly, almost venomously, his every muscle tense.

 

Sniper exhaled. “Scout, listen—“

 

“ _No_ ,” Scout insisted, louder. “No fucking way. Absolutely not.”

 

“If you could let me _talk_ —“

 

“I already said no. I’m not doin’ that. Not in a million years.” His voice was louder, wavering a little bit, a note nearing alarm rising clearly.

 

“Can I finish speaking?” Sniper asked sharply, voice rising over Scout’s. Scout set his jaw, crossing his arms, eyes locked on the cuffs. “I was _going_  to ask, if you would like to—let me talk!” he said loudly as Scout opened his mouth again.

 

“Not gonna change anything,” Scout mumbled.

 

“I was going to ask you,” Sniper said, forcing patience into his voice, “if you would like to top— _shut up_ —with _me_  cuffed and restrained. If that would help you feel well enough about it to try again. But if you’re gonna get yourself in a bloody mood over it, then I guess not. Guess I’ll just go return these.”

 

Scout had frozen up, glancing from the cuffs to Sniper’s face.

 

“And I wanted to see how you felt about these first, but since I’m apparently just takin’ all these back anyways—“ Sniper fished back in the bag again, taking out a length of cloth. “Thought a blindfold might help too. But never bloody mind, I guess, if you’re so dead set against it.”

 

Scout’s expression had softened at some point, the layer of anger starting to slide away. “You got all this to... because’a _me?”_ he asked quietly.

 

Sniper huffed out a breath, hands falling to either side. “Yes. Wanted to give you a shot at this again, since we’re both stone-sober for once, and have plenty of time to talk about it and all.”

 

Slowly, over the course of a long minute, Scout’s expression shifted again. Not for the better. He was stony, jaw tight, eyes dim.

 

“I don’t need your fuckin’ pity,” Scout murmured.

 

Sniper blinked. “What?”

 

“I don’t need you just—“ Scout gestured in an entirely empty way, “—just tryin’ to, spare my fuckin’ _feelings_  or whatever. I’m a goddamn adult. I don’t need your pity, or, or, _whatever_  the fuck this is.”

 

Sniper dragged a hand over his face, cursing Scout’s ridiculous _pride_. “Look. This is something I’d like to try regardless. I just figured I might as well go all in on it, two birds with one stone. You get to top, I get to try being cuffed. If you don’t want to try, you can just say so.”

 

Scout didn’t need to know that this was something Sniper had done once before himself, albeit with rope, and a few times to others, also not using specifically handcuffs. Or that the blindfold was another thing he’d had put on a few times previously.

 

He watched Scout thinking about it, glaring at the cuffs like they owed him money.

 

“We could always save it for later, even,” he finally added.

 

Scout shook his head. “No. Let’s—fuck it, let’s do this.” He started peeling himself out of his clothes quickly, almost frantically.

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“I dunno. But if I wait and think about it I’m gonna chicken out for sure.”

 

Sniper wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but ultimately, he figured Scout was making his own choices anyways. “How d’you want me for this?”

 

Scout thought about it for a second, looking him up and down in an entirely shameless way, albeit with a much more studious expression than he generally used. “On your back,” he decided, eyes turning back to the task of shucking off his shoes and socks. “Hands in front of you.”

 

“Blindfold?” Sniper asked, holding up the item in question with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Uh... yeah,” he said slowly, now setting to work on his pants with efficiency only afforded, as Sniper knew from experience, from the fact that it was his uniform pants. “Yeah, okay.”

 

Sniper finished his own stripping, moving to the position Scout had instructed. Not very long later he found himself with the loop of his cuffed arms up around Scout’s shoulders, head tilted back, gasping at the feeling of the shorter man pushing in, something Sniper often missed the feeling of but could never perfectly recreate in his mind when he jerked off.

 

One thing he would give to Scout was the fact that his pace was downright relentless. Him being a runner _and_  having primary weapons of A.) a baseball bat and B.) a gun with a kickback that hit as hard as a mule left him with an amount of strength that the rest of the team never really seemed to pick up on—and admittedly, Sniper had also never quite realized the potency of. He knew Scout rode _hard_ , he knew that from sheer experience, but apparently with leverage, he could fuck even harder.

 

And while Sniper was experienced with other people as well (being what most of Australia would consider an absolute twink), and Scout wasn’t the most daunting person to fuck him (what with most of Australia being outright ridiculous in terms of _size_ , and strength, and just in general) Scout was pulling off the amazing feat of almost pushing Sniper too far. He left Sniper seeing stars beneath the blindfold, unable to catch his breath, with it being pounded out of him with every movement alongside groans loud enough that it made him glad he chose to bring this up in the camper. The slap of skin on skin was loud, and Sniper was sure he’d be bruised come morning, but god was it worth it, god did it feel good.

 

And maybe it was because it’d been a while since Sniper did this particular activity with anyone, what with the majority of his action coming from Scout for so long and Scout not topping in general. Or maybe because Scout was just rather good at this. Or maybe because the path working up to that point had been winding, Scout very clearly nervous about Sniper having any discomfort at all, using an amount of lube that made Sniper make Scout get a second towel to lie down alongside the first they tended to use for this sort of thing. Whatever it was, Sniper didn’t quite last as long as he thought he would. Not all—or even most—people could come without their dicks even being touched, but Sniper was lucky, and Scout was relentless, so it was almost a bit embarrassing that he felt orgasm crowding into frame so soon.

 

Scout knew him well enough that he caught on quickly, and as an act of mercy to the cuffed man, he took hold of Sniper and started jerking him in even strokes, in half-time to his thrusts. Sniper lasted maybe half a minute before he was absolutely _gone_ , orgasm hitting harder than he could remember it being for a good long while. He came hard, making a repertoire of embarrassing noises that only ever seemed to come along when he got a dick in him.

 

Scout fucked him right through it, and it felt incredible, then overwhelming, then very rapidly fell into the category of “too much” as Sniper came down from the high.

 

“Wait,” he croaked, “wait.”

 

Scout slowed to a stop right away, and Sniper could hear that Scout’s breath was quick in his chest, could feel it from the slight motion of him with every heave, his arms hooked around Scout’s back feeling the shift up and down, up and down.

 

Scout gathered enough air to speak. “You need me out?” he asked, voice a bit croaky himself.

 

Sniper shifted in the tiniest way to get slightly more comfortable, and frowned in twin discomfort and understanding. “You didn’t...?” he trailed hesitantly, realizing Scout was still hard, practically throbbing.

 

“No, I... I didn’t, not yet,” Scout managed.

 

Sniper considered that fact for a few seconds. “...Are you close, at least?”

 

The sound of movement, Scout either shaking or nodding his head, then quickly amending when he remembered Sniper couldn’t see him. “N-no. Not...”

 

Sniper caught his breath a bit more, and made a decision. “If you can handle just holding still for a bit, I think I can be ready to properly go again in... ten minutes or so,” he said.

 

Scout settled in, which was an answer before his answer. “Okay.”

 

The ten minutes passed with Scout lying almost too-soft kisses up the plane of Sniper’s neck, his shoulders, his upper chest. He pulled up one of the towels a bit, mopped up the cooling cum from Sniper’s stomach. Overall, he was quiet, uncharacteristically so. Sniper fought sleep, mostly with the help of those kisses and the vague discomfort of a dick in him when he’d just come.

 

The discomfort settled away, and then at some point when Sniper was instead paying attentionto the feeling of Scout’s eyelashes brushing his chin while he kissed the hollow of Sniper’s throat, it faded into pleasure, first a pressurized kind, then slowly something more manageable, then slowly something not quite enough, that he wanted more of.

 

“Okay,” he tried, but his voice was barely a breath, and creaked, so he tried again. “Okay. You can keep going now.”

 

“You’re sure?” Scout asked him tentatively, a hand stroking over the outer part of his thigh.

 

“Positive.”

 

Scout went with a slow build, a careful thing, which was fortunate for Sniper, who was still a bit more sensitive than he’d thought, at least at first.

 

And as they built back up to a similar speed to before, the slight edge didn’t quite leave, the sensitivity was about the same, and it made Sniper loose all sorts of whining, higher-pitched, desperate noises. Scout’s rhythm stuttered a bit alongside them, but he was persevering like a champion, managing such a steady, quick rhythm in such an odd position for the second time so soon.

 

Feelings blurred together, the cooling sweat on his back and thighs was replaced with a fresh and much hotter batch, his lower back tingled as it brushed against the fabric beneath him with every thrust, his fingertips (still cuffed, he’d almost forgotten the cuffs) found the movement of the muscles in Scout’s back and fixated there. This was something he remembered about being blindfolded or in the dark—the heightening of sensations, how much easier it was to concentrate on just feeling, just sound.

 

Just taste, too, he decided as Scout leaned far enough forward for Sniper to arch up, kissing him soundly on the corner of the mouth, then the lips, all too soon having to fall back as his muscles fluttered under the onslaught.

 

He was almost caught by surprise when he came again, crying out and arching, feeling wrung-out and exhausted even through the orgasm itself. He was glad to know he’d lasted a good bit longer the second time. Scout’s rhythm slowed a bit, but didn’t falter.

 

Didn’t falter. Didn’t falter. Incredible. Overwhelming.

 

“Too much,” Sniper finally gasped, and Scout stalled again.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he snapped with feeling, “what’s _wrong_  with me?”

 

In a single swift (albeit careful) motion, Scout pulled out, and in a moment he was free of Sniper’s limbs, the lanky man’s legs falling to the bed and his arms left hanging in the air.

 

Sniper hesitated for a moment before he was slowly moving his arms to his own face, pushing up the blindfold.

 

He saw Scout dragging a hand over the sheets behind him, expression an absolute mess. He finally found what he was looking for—a tiny set of keys—and set to work trying to get Sniper’s hands free.

 

Sniper glanced him over, eyes still adjusting to the light. Scout was barely even hard anymore, covered in a sheen of sweat, tense enough that he was shaking and looking even more wrung out and exhausted than Sniper did.

 

He managed to catch his breath before Scout did. “Mate—“ he started to say, and that was what set Scout off.

 

“Look, I don’t get what my problem is either, okay?” he snapped, except he couldn’t meet Sniper’s eyes. “Like, okay, back—back then I’m fine, I get off no problem, it’s, it’s great, but the one time I’m—“ His hands were shaking too badly to get the cuffs unlocked. “The one time I actually, actually give a shit about, the—“ He squeezed his eyes shut, and Sniper gingerly took the keys, starting to get himself out. Scout wiped at his forehead with his arm, raked hands up through his sweaty hair, practically yanking, hard enough that Sniper was sure it had to hurt. “I finally give a shit and it just, what, doesn’t fucking matter? I just can’t—fuckin’—what the fuck is _wrong_  with me?!”

 

Sniper finally got himself free, and reached up to cup Scout’s face in his hands, partially to get Scout to stop pulling at his own hair. “Scout.”

 

His expression warped further, from anger and frustration and tension to frustration and grief and shame. He curled his knees up towards himself, head ducking down a bit. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so fucked up. I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. You’re awright.” Scout’s face was just sweaty, most of him was, and that seemed fair considering Sniper imagined he was just as wrecked, but he ran his thumbs along the space under Scout’s eyes regardless. “Look. Let’s go get cleaned up. You’ve made a proper mess out of me. And while we’re doing that, if you’d like to, we can talk about things.”

 

Scout shook his head. “No, I’m... I’m good,” he denied.

 

“You’re not. You’re very clearly, very much not.” That gained Sniper the barest moment of eye contact, then Scout was looking away again.

 

“I dunno,” was all Scout could say.

 

He made a choice. “Awright, c’mere,” Sniper said, moving to get off the bed and towards the bathroom.

 

He mopped himself clean in just a few moments, first his stomach, then of the lube down his thighs. He dampened his hand under the sink and tugged it through his hair once just to get it back out of his eyes, then pulled on his jeans and button-up, not bothering to do it up at all besides some button down towards the middle just to keep it on.

 

Scout only had time to pull off the condom and pull on his briefs and pants before Sniper was snatching up the younger man’s shirt and pulling him towards the door.

 

Once out there, Sniper ushered him up the ladder without preamble. It was past sundown, and as Sniper’s hands made contact with the metal of the roof, he appreciated the fact that it wouldn’t be burning his palms, and instead only had the smallest amount of lingering warmth left in it from a day’s worth of baking in the sun.

 

He sat next to Scout, who had already curled up against the cold, or maybe against everything. His seat was between the ladder and Scout by convenience mostly. He passed over the shirt, and Scout pulled it on without fanfare.

 

Silence. The stars had started to come out not long ago, and there was a bit of cloud cover blotting them out in some places. A half-moon.

 

“We need to have a talk,” Sniper said simply.

 

Scout ducked his head.

 

Sniper sighed at that reaction, moving to lie down on his back. “Look, I won’t force you to talk about anything involving the... big things, that you don’t want to tell me. I’m fairly sure I couldn’t even if I wanted to. But we do need to talk about something else.”

 

Scout practically flinched, and Sniper turned his head.

 

“What’s that reaction about?” he asked hesitantly.

 

Scout wouldn’t meet his eye, and stood up. “Do we really need to talk about it, though?” he tried, voice a false kind of cheery. “I, I mean, I kinda wanna go get a shower, maybe this can, y’know, wait—?”

 

Sniper took hold of his ankle as he tried to walk to the ladder. Scout stopped, looked down at him.

 

“Scout, sit down. It’s important,” Sniper said quietly.

 

Scout didn’t move for a moment after Sniper released him, then spent another just shifting on his feet. Finally he moved to sit down again, this time between Sniper and the ladder. “Uh... okay.”

 

Sniper dragged a hand down over his face, muddling through his scattered thoughts and trying to find the right words. “I just... look, this can’t keep happening,” he finally started.

 

Some kind of reaction from Scout, and when he looked over, Sniper caught sight of Scout burrowing into his arms, curled up tight. “Yeah. I kinda figured it was like that,” he said quietly.

 

Sniper’s eyebrows furrowed. Scout continued talking.

 

“Like—I dunno, Engie just said some stuff to me the other day, and I, I can’t even fuckin’—“ Scout was clearly trying very hard to control his voice, keep it calm. “I dunno. I get it. I think it’s fair if you don’t wanna...”

 

“The bugger are you talkin’ about?” Sniper asked.

 

“The—“ Scout lifted a hand to gesture loosely for a second. “The, you’re done with me. And I think that’s fair, you don’t gotta keep dealin’ with me if I’m all fucked up over dumb stuff all the time, I—“

 

“That’s—that’s not what I was doin’, mate,” Sniper said carefully.

 

Scout lifted his head, taking his own turn to look confused. “What?”

 

“I was gonna talk about somethin’ else,” Sniper said. “Unless... do _you_  wanna be done?”

 

“No! Hell no! I just figured...” Scout trailed off. “Uh. Nevermind, uh. Just, you go ahead. And, uh. Whatever you were gonna say.”

 

Sniper hesitated for a few more seconds before he obliged. “What I was gonna say is... that we can’t keep doing that thing where you push yourself too far and get... and get _upset_ , and then don’t say anything until it’s far too much. We need to work out a better system for that.”

 

Scout shifted. “It’s not a big deal,” he protested quietly.

 

Sniper sighed, head tilting back against the roof. “I’d much prefer knowing that I’m not driving you into a panic with absolute certainty, rather than being _mostly_  sure at any given time,” he said firmly.

 

“I wasn’t panicking,” he protested, even more quietly.

 

Sniper pulled lightly on the other man’s sleeve, coaxed him into lying down next to him. With Scout freshly in range, Sniper half-turned, rubbing his thumb in circles over Scout’s meager bicep, gripping loosely. “I just... this is supposed to be something we _both_  enjoy, aye? Feels like I’m... taking an awful lot, not givin’ half as much.”

 

“You do plenty,” Scout said firmly.

 

Sniper raised an eyebrow.

 

“Like... like puttin’ up with me,” Scout specified, voice falling quiet. “Bein’ all nice to me most’a the time.”

 

Sniper’s eyebrow fell into a furrow. “Love, that’s not ‘doing plenty’. That’s the bare minimum.”

 

Scout shrugged, head turning upwards. “More than anyone else has ever done,” he murmured.

 

Sniper’s hand drifted over to cup Scout’s cheek, turning his head back towards him. “One of these days,” he vowed, “I’ll convince you that you’re worth more than that.”

 

Scout tried to look away feebly, but Sniper wouldn’t allow it. “That’s not your job,” he said.

 

“Not my job,” Sniper nodded. “But I’ll do it anyways. Because I want to.”

 

Scout’s gaze moved carefully over Sniper’s face, searching for something, maybe.

 

“I want you to promise me something,” Sniper said next.

 

Scout hesitated only a second before nodding.

 

“The... the not topping, that’s not a dealbreaker. I’ll be fine without it if you never want to try again, and ready for if you do.”

 

“Good to know,” Scout mumbled, and Sniper huffed out something like a laugh, the slightest bit of disapproval on his face at Scout inturrupting him just to be sarcastic.

 

“Right. But what I’m asking is this,” he said. “If you ever—for any reason, or even if you don’t know the reason—start feeling bad next time we get together, you’ll tell me. However you need to tell me to get it through and make sure I understand. Can you promise me that, at least?”

 

Scout reached a hand to grip Sniper’s forearm. “Is _that_  a dealbreaker?” he asked, half jokingly.

 

Sniper considered for a moment, before giving a completely non-joking answer. “Yes,” he said. Scout’s expression fell. “I don’t know if I could keep sleeping with you in good conscience if I wasn’t properly sure you wanted it.”

 

Scout looked at Sniper for a long few seconds, long enough that he was absolutely sure that the younger man was taking the request seriously.

 

“Okay,” he said after a little while. “I’ll... I’ll do my best.”

 

“Promise?” Sniper prompted.

 

Scout’s hold moved to something more firm, more solemn. “Promise.”

 

Sniper allowed himself a smile. “That’s all I dare ask of you.”

 

Scout smiled, a lighthearted thing, and turned almost to look away.

 

Sniper’s hand moved only slightly, and stilled him. “Really. Thank you, Scout.”

 

Scout’s grip softened again. “Hey. I know you didn’t ask, but... can I say somethin’ else?”

 

“Yeah. Go ahead,” Sniper encouraged.

 

“You didn’t guess my name.”

 

Sniper felt himself falter, and quickly tried to recover. “Didn’t think you remembered that,” he admitted.

 

Scout squeezed his arm. “Yeah. Kinda fuzzy, but I remember the big parts. Not the exact words, just the gist. And... I dunno. Feels like... like I’m takin’ all this too seriously, considering you don’t even know my real name or nothin’.”

 

Sniper glanced him over, hesitant now.

 

“And—and you don’t gotta start callin’ me by it or whatever, and you don’t gotta give me yours. It just... I feel like I should tell you.”

 

“Only if you’re sure,” Sniper said slowly.

 

“I’m sure,” Scout said firmly. “It’s Jeremy.”

 

Sniper nodded slowly after a second. “Jeremy,” he said, taking note of the way his accent twisted the syllables, watching the instant uptick of Scout’s mouth at the corners, the way his eyes lit up with something unnameable. “That’s a good name.”

 

Scout shrugged. “As a kid I got kinda poked fun at over it,” he admitted. “But hey, it’s my name. Nothin’ to do about that, y’know?”

 

Sniper hummed.

 

Quiet for a little while.

 

“We should shower and stuff,” Scout said softly, a very obvious subject change.

 

Sniper allowed it. “Yeah. You’re probably right,” he said, voice sandy. He sat up with a groan alongside protesting muscles and joints. “I might fall asleep.”

 

“I’ll try not to let you drown in the shower,” Scout joked.

 

Sniper smiled. “A damn hero, you are,” he said, and helped pull Scout to his feet.

 

“Folk hero or superhero?” Scout shot back.

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Oh my _god_ , “does it matter”, get a load’a this guy—“

 

And Scout was off to the races, and Sniper was smiling, was laughing as Scout schooled him on the pros and cons of being a superhero versus a boring old folk hero. And he was pretty sure Scout wasn't just pretending to have cheered up.

 

Pretty sure.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[hopefully nearly there folks]]


	5. Undeterred

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[alright, so i'm leaning on the safe side and putting a few trigger warnings on this chapter. they're slight spoilers, so if you're pretty sure you're gonna be okay, ignore the next little block of text.]]
> 
> [[tw: depiction of a panic attack, discussion of past trauma, discussion of past assault, discussion of past rape. there are no flashbacks or graphic scenes, it's only scout discussing what happened to him to give him the issues he has. if you don't think you can deal with reading that, stop reading at "I lied. I lied a lot, about, about the other times", and if you want you can pick it back up at "Sniffle. "I can't even get into it right now,"". take care of yourself, guys]]

 

 

Sniper took to trying to spend more time around Scout in a more casual manner.

 

Middle-of-the-day sorts of things. The time of day where it felt a bit odd to be having a lay, especially in the day right after they’d already gotten together and neither of them really had much in their system to work out. Admittedly, it was difficult to find Scout at first, before he realized the kid spent most of his time either wandering the base or just hanging out in a few key areas, mostly off the beaten path. He found Scout hanging out near the base’s power generator and water heating system in particular. When asked about it, Scout just claimed that he liked the noise they made.

 

At one point he found Scout pretty early in the day, in one of the generator maintenance rooms, cooped with a few notebooks and some large, blank sheets of newsprint, along with a few rulers and pencils and pens.

 

“What’s the arts and crafts project?” Sniper asked, shrugging the bag off his shoulder and moving to sit across from Scout, a respectable distance from the mess of paper.

 

“Work,” Scout said, more focused than Sniper almost ever saw him, especially off the field. “I’m supposed to take all these maps I made and, y’know, sorta...” He made a loose gesture with the hand not holding a pencil, the pencil taking a moment to be held between his teeth. “I, there’s a word. Shit. The same paper.”

 

“Combine them?”

 

“No. Another C-word.” Scout tapped the end of the pencil against his own cheek a few times before his eyes lit up. “Consolidate! That’s it. I’ve gotta consolidate all the stuff onto one paper instead of the notebooks of chicken scratch. Because Miss P said if I hand her one’a these again she’s gonna bury me.”

 

Sniper raised an eyebrow at that. “Don’t you mean ‘kill you’?”

 

“Nah, she—she specifically said bury. Which I think is kinda worse than kill. Like, objectively.”

 

Scout returned to chewing on the pencil, picking up a different one and starting to scribble something in the margins of one of the notebooks. Sniper watched him do so for a few moments.

 

“When’s this supposed to be due? What’s the deadline?” he asked when Scout put the notebook down again to frown at the big blank sheet again.

 

“Tomorrow night.”

 

Sniper watched him flipping through a different notebook for a few seconds, through at least two dozen pages, then looked at the completely blank sheet of paper. “Cutting it close, don’t you think?”

 

“I work best under pressure,” Scout replied, putting the notebook down and picking up the first one, scribbling something else in the margins. “Otherwise I can’t focus for shit.”

 

“What part of this is holding you up from... actually writing anything down on this?” Sniper asked, tapping on one corner of the large, entirely blank, perfectly unmarked piece of paper.

 

Scout groaned, dragging a hand down over his face. “Well, I’ve gotta fit all of _these_ —“ he leafed through the first half of the second notebook, “—onto it, and all of _these_ —“ he picked up a thusfar untouched third notebook and tapped the cover, “—onto _that_  paper over there as an additional guide, with some kind of code to connect the two. Then I’ve got _these_  fuckin’ things to deal with too.” He picked up a large envelope, tossing it into the middle of the paper. “She forgot to tell me anything about those.”

 

Sniper reached halfway towards the envelope, pausing for some kind of permission, and Scout gestured for him to go ahead. He picked it up and opened it, and shook out the contents into his hand. It was a collection of maybe a dozen polaroids, all appearing to be of the same place.

 

“You took these?” Sniper asked, raising an eyebrow at him. All of them seemed to be essentially doubles, albeit very slightly different from each other, but they were well-shot.

 

“Yeah. That’s a new thing. Miss P said drawings are helpful an’ all, but actual pictures would speed up the process. And that she figured I could handle taking care of such an easy camera.” He propped his face on his hand, sighing. “And I guess I’m just supposed to send them with the maps and shit, but usually I send the maps in a tube, and roll ‘em pretty tight, and I don’t think that’d be good for pictures, right? Wouldn’t that fuck ‘em up?” He rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “And the issue is that this specific map has some weird goddamn proportions, it’s a goddamn L shape, which means a good chunk of this is gonna be missing and the scale is gonna need to be below what I’ve made standard, even using this stupidly big paper. And I can’t remember how many feet are in a mile or any of that bullshit because I left that notebook in a fuckin’ hotel room half a country away. And there’s overlapping stories on it, meaning I’m gonna need to do some fuckin’, some crossword-lookin’, like... some weird bullshit to try and get it to all fit into one paper. So that sucks. And I’m already getting a headache at the math here. And also I just for real hate this part of the job.”

 

Sniper paused, but Scout seemed to be done rambling, at least for the moment. He considered his words.

 

“Well, I might have something to cheer you up,” he finally said.

 

“Is that what the bag’s for?” Scout asked sullenly, not looking up.

 

Sniper blinked. “...Er. Yeah, actually. It is.” He paused. “How’d... you figure that out?”

 

“I mean, you have a bag. You never have a bag. Don’t ever carry one. You just keep stuff in your pockets or strapped to you. Figured it was weird. And figured you’d bring it up pretty quick.” Scout looked up, eyeing the bag in question as Sniper picked it up. He perked up when Sniper took a paper sack from it. “Oh damn, is it liquor?” he asked, far too excited.

 

“Why would I be giving you alcohol when you’ve a deadline to meet?” Sniper quarter-joked, half-chided, quarter-actually-asked.

 

“Nerves, fuck if I know. Then what is it?” Scout asked, and all of the focus from earlier was completely gone. Now that Scout was actually looking at him, Sniper could see that there was a smear of graphite at his jawline. Or maybe a bruise. Probably graphite.

 

He stopped stalling and just pulled out the contents of the bag, and Scout’s eyebrows skyrocketed.

 

“Holy shit, man,” Scout said simply, eyeing the pack of assorted sodas.

 

“Found a candy store while I was working a contract, setting alibis,” Sniper said, pulling out one of the bottles from one of the two cardboard carriers to examine it as he thought he noticed a crack in the neck of it. “Mostly just cent candies or bulk cartons of specific things, but in the back there was this wall of pop. Maybe twenty brands of grape and orange soda, dozen of just regular cola, but then, towards the top...” He handed the bottle to Scout, who took a moment to read the label, and whose face scrunched up reflexively. “...I found the novelty kind.”

 

“Okay, I’m readin’ this wrong. Because there’s no fuckin’ way that _pickle soda_  exists.”

 

“Apparently it does.” Sniper picked another bottle from its little six-bottle carrier, glancing at the label. “Now, some of these just had ridiculous names, they’re just regular pop with a title I thought was funny. Then some just had flavors I thought would be interesting. But then there was—well, that, the pickle flavor. Then there was also chocolate flavor, bacon flavor, and... this one’s just called ‘green’, which I’m particularly looking forward to. I’ve no idea what that one’s about.”

 

“So you... just brought me weird soda? Just, for fun?” Scout asked slowly, clearly not understanding.

 

“Well, not for you. For both of us.”

 

“Like a suicide pact?” Scout asks, still staring at the drink in his hand like any moment it’s going to jump up and kill him.

 

“More like something to do since neither of us is shipping out for a bit.”

 

Scout looked up at him, suspicion painfully obvious on his face. “And that’s all?”

 

Sniper only hesitated for a few seconds before conceding. “Alright, admittedly this is just something I’d like to try, just not alone since I don’t want to waste the soda or let it go flat, or drink all these in one sitting, so I figured I’d split them between at least one other person. And you’re the first and maybe only person I’d ask to do this with.”

 

“Why me? Just because I drink that one soda a lot, that doesn’t make me an expert or whatever,” Scout said, leaning to go pick up another bottle to look at.

 

“Well, you’re my friend,” Sniper said, trying to make it sound casual.

 

It didn’t work. Scout’s gaze whipped up, surprise flashing across his face in a burst before he visibly pushed it down again. His mouth moved wordlessly for a few seconds, then he cleared his throat lightly.

 

“Uh, anyways, do you have a glass or somethin’, or are we just gonna be sharing bottles?” Scout finally managed, looking down with ever-so-slightly too much interest at the label of the bottle as he abruptly changed subjects.

 

“What, are you scared of cooties?” Sniper teased, fishing in his jacket for his pocketknife, flipping open the bottle opener part of it. “We pash at least twice weekly, mate, I think we’ll be alright sharing a few bottles.”

 

That got him to laugh, at least a little, and he was scooching papers out of the way to take the freshly-opened bottle offered to him, the pickle flavored nonsense. “Alright. We try on three, yeah?”

 

“Sounds fair,” Sniper agreed with little fanfare, popping the cap off of his own soda—he’d gone for the Green.

 

“Cool. Count it down.”

 

“Alright. Three, two, one,” Sniper counted calmly, and lifted the bottle to his lips at the same time as Scout, but stopped short just a hair of actually drinking.

 

Scout, meanwhile, actually did take a hearty swig of the soda, gulping the first mouthful and holding the second for a moment before he gulped it down.

 

He made eye contact with Sniper as he lowered the bottle again, and his eyes widened seeing Sniper just holding the bottle near his own face, grinning slightly. “You dick!” he exclaimed, and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, his drinking having gone a little messy.

 

“How was it?” Sniper asked casually.

 

“You’re such a motherfucker.” Scout considered the bottle, mouth working for a second. “I mean, I like pickles, so it’s actually not bad. It’s... it just sorta tastes like pickle juice with bubbles. I was worried it’d be sweet too, but it’s not.”

 

“Hmm,” Sniper hummed, and calmly took a sip of his own soda. His expression fell at the recognizable taste. “Oh, bugger. That’s boring. It’s just sour apple.”

 

“Aw, what? Give it,” Scout said, making grabby motions at the bottle with his free hand. Sniper took the pickle soda back in exchange, taking a careful sip while Scout did the same with the other bottle. “Dude, that’s green apple. What the fuck is sour apple?”

 

“We _cannot_  get into another one of these arguments. Same thing, different name. Moving on.”

 

Scout did end up getting some work done, marking off parts of the soon-to-be map while they chatted and drawing in rough shapes between sips of whatever soda they’d last popped open. Scout enjoyed the pickle soda and the bacon soda quite a bit, while Sniper was mocked for actually liking the chocolate soda (“It doesn’t even taste like chocolate! It’s not sweet!” “Love, neither is the cocoa bean before it’s processed. Chocolate is bitter.” “Whatever, you’re a weirdo.”). There were a few root beers in the mix, each a silly name that Scout had a good time laughing at with each sip, and Sniper stuck to the various odd flavors like pineapple and peach, the latter of which he ended up particularly liking.

 

Eventually Sniper did decide to go get something to eat, and Scout declined an invitation to go with so they could eat dinner and keep chatting, sighing that he really did need to get his work done, but that he might stop by at a later time if he got done before two in the morning. Sniper shrugged and left, leaving half of the remaining sodas to Scout and taking the other half himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Scout ended up instead stopping by the next day around the afternoon, clearly tired but not hesitating to show up to bug Sniper. Sniper was in the middle of reading some book he’d picked up for a plane ride and completely forgotten about in lieu of sleeping. Scout had hopped up to wedge himself between Sniper and the wall, cuddling into his side and tracing shapes across his skin until he could distract Sniper away from the book. When that didn’t work after ten minutes, he started kissing at Sniper’s skin. When that didn’t work (or at least, didn’t get a reaction), Scout started settling a hickey just below Sniper’s ribs, and then another just above his navel, scraping a slow line with his mouth across Sniper’s abdomen. Sniper didn’t piece together what he was doing until Scout started giggling to himself when setting another one just under one of his pectorals, and he looked down and saw a crooked-looking smiley face laid across his stomach in slowly-blooming red marks.

 

He flipped a laughing Scout beneath him for the transgression, moving to lie a series of extremely visible hickies across his upper chest in retaliation, and one or two across his jaw just to further make a point.

 

That eventually fell into them kissing, then grinding against each other lazily, and eventually to them jerking each other off in a half-dressed haze, moaning into each other’s mouths lowly when they found the air to do so. Sniper quite enjoyed the moments when he blinked open his eyes and found Scout’s staring up at him, mouth half-open and lips swollen, face red and the hickies at his jawline even redder, only to be pulled right back in again.

 

He barely had the mind to roll onto his side so as not to crush Scout when things finally cooled down, and was grateful that the other man pulled himself together enough to clean them up, because frankly he was pretty sure he didn’t have the self-discipline just then to get up and actually do it. It was only through a bit of beckoning that Scout returned to the admittedly-hot bunk to have a bit of a cuddle with him. Sniper found himself dozing off, and was quite sure that Scout would do the same.

 

He wasn’t sure when exactly he went to sleep, but from where the light was peeking through the blinds, it had to have been a good hour or two later, and he had the fuzziness in his head of a particularly good nap. The first thing he processed was that he couldn’t feel Scout in his immediate vicinity, which made him frown. Then he turned his head to look around the camper and saw Scout standing by the counter, and relaxed again. Then he blinked a few times and slowly started to process what Scout was doing and he felt the icy chill of fear and apprehension creeping up his spine.

 

His box of cigarettes was half-open, and one was held between Scout’s fingers, rolled over, turned over, rolled over again as Scout examined it. His back was turned, meaning Sniper couldn’t see his face, but there was a slowness to his movements, as if he’d been turning the cigarette over for a little while already.

 

Sniper tried to tamp down the vague alarm rising steadily in his chest. Maybe Scout was just curious. Maybe he was just looking at it because he was bored. Scout did that when he was bored—fiddled with whatever was left out, messed with things, looked at them. It was strange that he’d gotten up from bed to do so, but there was no reason to panic. No reason to think he was thinking about picking up yet another bad habit because Sniper had been careless.

 

Except he raised his other hand, fiddling with something, and Sniper watched his lighter flick and spark a few times before Scout got the hang of it, and the icy feeling solidified into something heavy and nausea-inducing.

 

He shifted slightly, something he knew would make the cot creak, and it did, and he heard the metal cap of the lighter flicking closed in an instant. There was hesitation, then the shuffle of the box opening, then closing again, then the near-silent pad of bare feet towards the cot, then Scout was silently and effortlessly vaulting himself up to squeeze back between Sniper and the wall. Sniper feigned being basically asleep, making a little sound of drowsy complaint, and Scout kissed him on the cheek to shush him, shifting around a bit more to get comfortable, then lying still.

 

Eventually, after an eternity that was squeezed into the space of perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, Scout’s breathing shifted into his not-quite-a-snore.

 

Sniper opened his eyes, looking over at him, and yeah, Scout was out cold. He turned his gaze, craned his neck to look at the box of cigarettes, and saw them lying closed.

 

In the twenty minutes before Sniper actually got up, he turned over plenty of options in his head. He could assume that was the last time Scout messed with his cigarettes and just pretend he didn’t see anything. He could try and bring it up at some other point later, just to try and dissuade Scout from the habit in passing. But what would he even say?

 

His thoughts spun around and around until he finally made a decision, and then he promptly moved to sit up, gently shaking Scout’s shoulder.

 

“Oi. C’mon, love,” Sniper managed despite the rasp of his voice, lingering with sleep. “Time to get up.”

 

Scout hummed, a barely-there sort of thing, clearly not waking up much at all.

 

Sniper leaned back down to press a kiss to his temple, raking his hair back from his face. “Really, c’mon. Up you get. I’m hungry.”

 

Scout hummed again, this time a complaint, raising one arm as if to pull Sniper back down again.

 

Sniper sighed and laid down, pulling Scout in close, stroking a hand down his back beneath his shirt. Scout relaxed minutely, clearly pleased as Sniper kneaded at the meager muscles there just below his shoulders in slow circular motions, then lower, then lower, over the dip of his lower back. Scout turned his head up just slightly to level a happy little grin at Sniper that almost made him feel bad for the next thing he was about to do.

 

Sniper pinched one cheek sharply and Scout jolted properly awake with a yelp.

 

“G’day,” Sniper said cheerfully at the utter betrayal written on Scout’s face, mouth half-open in shock. “You awake now?”

 

“You dick!” Scout accused.

 

“That a yes?”

 

“You _dick_ ,” Scout insisted, rubbing at the skin where Sniper had pinched him as he sat up. “That hurt.”

 

“Physically, or—“ Sniper cut himself off with a yawn as he stretched his arms up above his head, listening to some part of his back cracking. “—or emotionally? Because I doubt it’s the first, and I’ll apologize if it’s the second.”

 

“You’re a dick.” Scout did get up, hopping harmlessly over Sniper to go stand next to the bunk, also stretching. He shook off his tiredness with efficiency, but not without complaint. “So, uh, we’re awake _why_ , exactly?”

 

“I’m hungry, and I know you’d whinge at me if I ate without you,” Sniper said, and felt some of the playfulness melting away as he settled in to what he knew he had to do. He got up, rubbing at his eyes, and picked up the lighter from the counter, then paused.

 

Scout was moving to pull his clothes into order, and didn’t see what Sniper was doing.

 

“...Oi, Scout.”

 

“Sup?”

 

“You touch my smokes?”

 

Scout went still. “...Uh, no?” he said, surprisingly easily, a much better liar than Sniper had thought.

 

“...Alright.” He walked over to the door, checked the lock on it. “Er. Well, then we might have a bit of a problem.”

 

“A... problem?” Scout asked, voice nervous now.

 

“Yeah. Because if you didn’t touch ‘em, then someone else did. And I sure don’t remember having any other guests in here.” He moved to pull open cabinets, inspecting the contents carefully. “So, someone was in here. Either before we were—which isn’t good, but is still best case scenario—or... while we were asleep just now.”

 

“...Oh,” Scout said. His voice had the slightest of tremors now.

 

“Yeah.” Sniper picked up the pack of cigarettes and threw them into the garbage bin. “And I don’t know what they messed with while they were in here, either. So, don’t... touch or eat anything in here. And...” Sniper turned to face Scout, scratching at the back of his own neck. “Well, I can’t be sure it was the _other_  Spy. It might’ve been ours. In which case, er... the team might... know.”

 

“Know?” Scout asked, eyebrows furrowing.

 

“About... what we’re up to,” Sniper said awkwardly, gesturing between the two of them. “Which isn’t particularly my problem, but I imagine could make life a bit difficult for you.”

 

Scout’s ears were red. “Oh. Uh...” He mirrored Sniper, scratching the back of his own neck and averting his eyes, his skill in lying falling away. “Well, shit.”

 

Sniper sighed heavily, leaning back against the counter. “Bugger. I’m sorry. I should’ve double-checked the door, I think I’d left it unlocked, and now... just, bugger.”

 

Scout tugged at his own shirt nervously, guilt flashing across his features, and Sniper did feel a bit bad for this elaborate ruse, but to be fair, Scout was the one trying to lie and steal his smokes behind his back. That wasn’t Sniper’s fault.

 

“You’re sure you weren’t the one fidgeting with those?” Sniper asked, pointing to the trash bin loosely, deciding to give Scout yet another easy out. “I know you do fidget quite a bit with things.”

 

Scout hesitated, then shifted on his feet. “Actually... maybe,” he finally said, falsifying a sudden revelation. “Hey, I might’ve actually!”

 

Sniper looked at him dead-on. “How sure are you?”

 

“No, yeah, I did mess with those earlier,” Scout said, standing up a bit straighter. “Fiddled with the box an’ whatever.”

 

Sniper relaxed his shoulders and the muscles of his arms. “Really? Crikey, that’s a relief,” he sighed. He bopped Scout on the arm. “Oi, next time chime in _before_  I’ve got myself in a right state over it, yeah?”

 

Scout relaxed as well, a lopsided smile finding his face. “Yeah, sure thing,” he agreed.

 

“And don’t mess with my smokes, alright? They’re terrible for you, you need your lungs too bad for that,” he said offhandedly, moving to put his lighter in the pocket of his vest, which he promptly pulled on.

 

“You’re not the boss of me,” Scout replied easily, sitting at the table briefly to pull on his shoes.

 

“I’m serious. Drinking’s already not good for you, picking up smoking too would be a bad plan,” Sniper said, tone solemn.

 

Scout’s hands froze in the middle of tying his shoelaces, head tilting up to regard Sniper. All the contentment was gone from his face. “What?” he asked, as if unsure of what Sniper was trying to say to him.

 

“Drinking alcohol regularly isn’t a good habit to have, and smoking’s even worse for you,” Sniper said, rephrasing, assuming Scout just didn’t understand what he meant. “So—“

 

“Okay, _what?_  Are you serious?” Scout’s expression had gone stormy, and he returned to doing his laces, yanking much harder than necessary as he tied them. “I really don’t need this from you, okay?”

 

“Listen, I’m just saying—“

 

“ _I’m just saying,_ ” Scout repeated back under his breath in a mocking tone. “Seriously, you people can knock it off with this bullshit. First Hardhat starts sassin’ me, then Heavy, then the Doc—I mean, fuck, what’s the problem?! I’m a goddamn _adult_ , okay? I can make my own decisions. I don’t need a babysitter. I don’t need the lectures. I’m makin’ my own choices. And like drinkin’ is my biggest problem anyways out here, you guys didn’t say a damn thing when it was the fuckin’ energy drinks, when I kept gettin’ in fistfights with Helmet-Head, when we gotta keep runnin’ onto a battleground five days a week and we’ve got a mad scientist cutting us open for laughs and one dude making explosives two rooms away from where I sleep and another guy building guns that fire themselves and another guy who loves _burning shit_  hangin’ out playin’ cards next to the kitchen, I mean, fuck, why is me drinking sometimes suddenly a federal fuckin’ issue?!”

 

“Scout—“ Sniper tried, taken aback by the sudden outburst.

 

Scout dragged a hand through his own hair sharply, glaring down at his shoes hard enough that Sniper was half convinced the rubber would melt right off them. “Like, it doesn’t matter! Maybe I just feel like drinking! I’m of age, I know my fuckin’ limits, so what’s the issue? And if you fuckers don’t want me drinking, then how come I’m not allowed to smoke either all of a sudden?! Like, shit, maybe I just wanna chill out once in a goddamn while! Is that not cool now either?! I thought you guys _wanted_  me to chill out, why is it—“

 

All at once he seemed to run out of words, squeezing his eyes shut, forcing himself through great effort to take a slow, deep breath, then another.

 

“Scout,” Sniper said softly, carefully. “I just meant that I don’t want you picking up a habit that’s bad for you. I didn’t mean to suggest you can’t make your own choices, I just... I just wanted to warn you.”

 

Scout shook his head, leaning forward to hold it in his hands for a few moments. “Just shut up,” he mumbled. “Look, I’ll... I’ll see you later, alright?”

 

And he was standing up, picking up his hat, striding to the door.

 

It took the door slamming shut to knock Sniper into motion, and he darted to it, leaning out to look at Scout. “Mate, I’m leaving again tomorrow morning!” he called after Scout.

 

“Then I’ll see you when you get back!” Scout called in return, barely turning his head. “Just fuck off for a while, okay?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Sniper managed to call, the only words that came to mind.

 

“I’ll...” Scout stopped, turned around. His expression was conflicted. “I’ll fuckin’ calm down about it, okay? I’m just pissed off for...” He fidgeted with his hat. “Like, a lot of reasons. And I know I’m gonna keep bein’ pissed if we keep talkin’ about it right now. We can talk later, I’ve just gotta go relax or whatever before I start yellin’ again.”

 

Sniper’s shoulders slumped. “Awright. I’ll... I’ll see you,” he called, voice quieter now.

 

Scout just waved and started walking again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jeremy.

 

At the time, it hadn’t really sunk in, he’d really just sort of... filed the information away. Memorized, compartmentalized, gone on with his day, his week. But now, lying awake, staring up at the ceiling of his rented room towards the center of Cairo at—he glanced at the clock—quarter to three AM, the night before he was supposed to make what he was pretty sure was his last hit of contract season, he just found himself stewing on it.

 

Jeremy. Jeremy the Scout. Raised in Boston. Jeremy... something.

 

He had a last name too. Sniper knew he did, because everyone had a last name. But that concept was still enough to rock him back from the doze he’d managed to slip into.

 

Not that he’d ever know what it was, if Scout was smart, which he was (despite his every effort to convince everyone, including himself, otherwise). Really, even just the first name was probably a mistake. Boston was a large city, but not a terribly large place overall. The desciption of Jeremy, the somewhat-scrawny runner with a loud mouth and a thousand-degree temper, along with the modifiers “youngest of eight” and “raised by a single mom”, that was an awful lot of information. All of that was almost definitely enough to track him down, if someone was competent, which most properly dangerous people were.

 

A last name would just be excessive. Dangerous. Reckless.

 

He wanted to know it anyways.

 

He drew a hand down over his face, sitting up and flicking on the nightstand’s lamp as he realized he wouldn’t be getting any sleep for a good long while and that he should really just use his time to check over his weapons, since he really hadn’t had time to make sure nothing had been damaged in transfer, his gun in particular being extraordinarily finicky. But as he fumbled a hand over the surface of the nightstand, half-blinded by the sudden light he’d inflicted upon himself, his hand connected with what he thought was the alarm clock, sending something clacking to the ground.

 

He slid his glasses on, and he became aware of a soft buzzing noise in the same moment that he realized it wasn’t a clock, it was the receiver of the phone so helpfully placed there at the bedside.

 

An idea. He was picking the phone back up and entering a semi-familiar number before he properly processed it.

 

The first time didn’t go through, and he groaned, this time actually remembering to enter a “1” before the number. He cursed his sleep-addled brain. The second time, it rang out, and he felt himself half-drifting for a second, and blinked himself back awake. The third time he started putting in the number, it occurred to him what he was doing.

 

He did some mental math, and confirmed that it was still early evening back at the base. So it wasn’t likely he’d be waking anyone up or anything. But still, he suspected contract season was nearly over, meaning multiple people were probably back on base. What if someone else picked up? What would he say? “Oh, sorry Engie, the person who’s currently miffed at me, could you pass the phone along to Scout, who you think I shouldn’t be hanging out with, and who’s also currently miffed at me? I’m calling for completely non-suspicious reasons, please don’t start rumors over this.” Worse, what if Heavy picked up? What if _Spy_  picked up? Calling was a ridiculous idea.

 

He started dialing again.

 

The phone almost rang clear through, and then was suddenly picked up, and a terribly familiar voice said “Hello?” and Sniper breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“It’s me, ‘ello,” Sniper greeted, berating himself for letting the relief peek through his voice.

 

“Snipes?” Scout asked, incredulous, worried. “What’s up? Did somethin’ happen? Is everything okay?”

 

A second round of beration aimed at himself for a second slip up. “Yeah, yeah, things are fine, I just wanted to call to—“

 

All at once he realized he didn’t exactly know why he was calling.

 

“To what?” Scout asked slowly, and no, he really didn’t know.

 

All at once he’d just been hit with this odd feeling, like he very much needed to talk to Scout, like he needed to... say something, to joke with him. Like fear almost, except... not. Maybe... was it just that he’d felt lonely? He was an adult man, he killed people for pete’s sake, how did he just feel _lonely_  for a minute and need to call up his fuckbuddy at however late at night?

 

“Just missed you, I s’pose,” he finally mumbled, voice hoarse with drowsiness.

 

Quiet, for a long few moments.

 

“Scout?” he mumbled as that silence continued. “You still there?”

 

“Yeah, I...” Scout started to say, quiet, almost too quiet. “Yeah. I’m still here. Just... caught me off guard a little bit.”

 

“Sorry,” Sniper murmured, sitting back against the headboard, returning to staring at the ceiling.

 

“No, just... I dunno. Just got out of a weird conversation like ten minutes ago, just, whiplash. Uh.” A pause. “So, you didn’t call me for like, a reason?”

 

“Just felt like it,” Sniper said simply, pushing up his sunglasses to rub at his eyes.

 

“Oh, okay. I thought you were callin’ to talk to me about that weird argument or something.”

 

“No, it’s not that,” Sniper said. “Just felt like it. And... I assume you won’t want to talk about that.”

 

“Yeah, no, I was just... I dunno. It was weird.” Quiet for a few seconds. “Hey, Snipes?”

 

“Mmm-hmm.”

 

“Quick question.”

 

“Mmm-hmm.”

 

“So, you’re not drunk, right?”

 

Sniper laughed. “No, I’m not drunk. Why would you think I’m drunk?”

 

“I’m still kinda confused about why you called. I mean, last time you really didn’t want to. And...”

 

“I just felt like it, Scout,” Sniper repeated. “Did, er. Did I need any more reasons?”

 

Jeremy.

 

“No, I... I guess not.” A pause. “Hey, I thought you were on the other side of the planet or somethin’.”

 

“Yeah,” Sniper confirmed, head tilting back to regard the ceiling.

 

Jeremy.

 

“Isn’t it the middle of the night for you?”

 

“Also yeah.” A pause. “If you don’t feel like talkin’, you can just tell me, you realize.”

 

“Nah, it’s not that!” Scout protested, voice crackly through the speaker. “I just thought of it just now, and, I dunno. Dumb question.”

 

“Not dumb,” Sniper replied easily.

 

“Silly question,” Scout amended, feigning exasperation.

 

“A bit.”

 

There was a pause again, broken only by the light crackle of static into the receiver as Scout breathed and the sound of the night life in the city outside the window.

 

“Look, I really didn’t have some sort of... motive, for calling. It’s late, I was up tossing and turning, and I felt a touch lonely. So I called.”

 

Scout huffed a half-laugh. “I’m stood in the middle of the hallway, dude. Not a great time.”

 

“Not _that_  kind of lonely, you cretin,” Sniper chided, the corner of his mouth ticking up. “Just felt like talking to someone. Or, maybe just listening.”

 

“Well... what do you want me to talk about?” Scout asked slowly.

 

“Anything,” Sniper chuckled. “Really. What’d you do today?”

 

“Uhhh...” Scout was quiet for a second, thinking. “Washed my blankets. Got distracted, cleaned half my room, got distracted from _that_ , messed with the bookshelf. Actually did the laundry. Mumbles got back from a job, brought groceries. Oh—I ate a whole bag’a cherries! So that was fun.”

 

“A whole bag?”

 

“Well, okay, Demo had a few. And Pyro, because he’s the one that got ‘em in the first place. But I ate most of ‘em.”

 

“Why’d you eat a whole bag of cherries?” Sniper asked, bemused.

 

“Well, see, I made a bet with Cyclops about—y’know the thing some people can do, where they tie a cherry stem in their mouth? He bet I couldn’t do that ten times without my mouth gettin’ sore. So, cherries. Then they were delicious so I just kept goin’ after I hit ten.”

 

“You can tie a cherry stem in your mouth?” Sniper asked next, partly confused, oddly impressed.

 

“Yeah, I dunno either, man. I won like twenty bucks for it though, so, I’m not gonna question it.”

 

Sniper didn’t bring up the fact that twenty dollars was nothing to any of them, with how much they made doing the whole murder thing. He was aware that bets were always just a pride thing with money tacked to them on principle.

 

Scout continued talking through Sniper’s silence. “Anyways, that’s about all that happened. That was like, an hour ago. Then we had this weird conversation for a while, then I went back to my room and heard the phone ringing a little bit ago, so, I came out here.”

 

“A weird conversation?” Sniper repeated, taking note of the way Scout tried to breeze past the phrase.

 

A pause, much longer than the phone delay. “I mean, yeah. Y’know, uh... weird conversation.”

 

“What _kind_  of weird?”

 

“Uhhh.” Pause. “Uhhhhhhhhh can I plead the fourth?”

 

Sniper blinked. “Jeremy, I’m Australian and even _I_  know that it’s the fifth, not the fourth.”

 

A pause. “What’d you say?”

 

“It’s the fifth. Plead the fifth. You said fourth.”

 

“No, before that.”

 

“I asked what you meant by weird.”

 

“No, after—oh, god damn it. Hold on.” Scout apparently pulled the phone away from his ear, because his voice was quieter a moment later despite the fact that it sounded like he was yelling. _“Hey, fuck off! How many goddamn times do we gotta say it before you stop snooping, you goddamn rat?!”_

 

Sniper heard the sound of someone yelling back, and after a few moments managed to identify the voice as Spy’s, despite not being able to pick out words.

 

 _“Well go somewhere else about it!”_ Scout yelled next. Spy yelled back. _“I don’t give a shit! Get a move on! Scram! Skedaddle! Take a hike! Hit the road! Vamoose! Beat it! Most importantly, make sure the door hits you on the way out!”_ Yelling. _“Rude yourself!”_

 

Fading yelling. Silence. Scout’s voice was back to a normal volume when he spoke next.

 

“Hey, you still there?” he asked.

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

“Okay, so, Spy apparently just got back on base, so, we’re gonna have to cut this short,” Scout said, sounding disappointed.

 

“The hell’d he do, besides be a snake?” Sniper asked, frowning.

 

“Had his suitcase, was walkin’ back to his room or somethin’. Like I’d believe he wasn’t just tryin’ to eavesdrop and piss me off.”

 

“...He was walking down the hall?” Sniper asked, just to clarify.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“And so you shouted at him?

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Good on ya,” Sniper said appraisingly. “Serves right.”

 

“Thanks.” Scout did indeed sound pleased with himself. “Anyways, now he’s probably gonna _actually_  try with the eavesdropping, so, I should go. See you... uh, whenever you get back.”

 

“Tuesday, around two in the arvo,” Sniper said.

 

“English?”

 

“Two o’clock pm,” Sniper laughed, rolling his eyes.

 

“Cool. Well, see you Tuesday. Later. Get some sleep.”

 

“Right. See you.”

 

A beat of pause before Scout hung up the phone. Sniper kept the receiver up next to his ear until the phone started beeping shrilly. He then hung up.

 

Silence pressed in.

 

_Oh fuck, he’d said Jeremy, hadn’t he?_

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was a very familiar knock at his door, and the moment Sniper opened it, his back was against the wall.

 

He went tense, fighting instinct wrestling for control, but a pair of still-wrapped hands found either side of his face and yanked him down into a fierce kiss—hell, if it could even be called a kiss. It was more a smashing of lips together, noses pressed awkwardly against each other.

 

It took two almost-shoves before Scout disengaged, taking a half-step back. Sniper tried to find his breath, and in the pause he leaned over towards to door, clicked the lock on it clumsily. “The hell are you doin’?” he managed, voice breathy.

 

“What’s it look like?” Scout asked impatiently, and he was moving one hand to the nape of Sniper’s neck, tilting his head to start laving attention over his adam’s apple.

 

It made Sniper jitter, and he tried to figure out where to put his arms, caught completely off guard by the suddenness of all of this. He managed to find Scout’s shoulders, and tugged on them lightly until Scout backed off again.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked next, something cold settling in his stomach at the hardness in Scout’s expression, something sharp there in his eyes.

 

“Never better,” he said flatly, and pulled Sniper down to kiss again.

 

And there was a tongue in Sniper’s mouth, and a hand scratchy with grip tape migrating up his stomach beneath his shirt before changing paths and grabbing onto his hip, pulling him off the wall just slightly only to grind him back into it, the angle almost awkward with their difference in height, more Scout grinding into his uppermost thigh than their hips together.

 

Sniper pushed a bit harder, gaining himself some distance this time. “Scout, really. Slow down a tick,” he managed, a bit more hot under the collar than he wanted to let on. “Take it easy.”

 

“What if I don’t want to?” Scout said a little sharply, jaw set.

 

“Well that would be new,” Sniper replied, a little sharply himself. “What the hell’s gotten into you? What’s gone wrong? What happened?”

 

Scout sighed, hands falling to Sniper’s waist, pressing his forehead against Sniper’s shoulder. “Look, we can skip over all the touchy-feely bullshit, okay?” he said, exasperated, frustrated. “I really don’t need it.”

 

“I don’t believe you,” Sniper said firmly.

 

Scout’s grip tightened. “Seriously. I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about it,” he said, and his voice was more uneven than it had been only a few seconds earlier.

 

Sniper forced himself to take a slow breath, an arm winding around Scout’s shoulders, the other carding up through the hair on the back of his head. “Alright. Then I suppose I won’t ask you to talk about it,” he surrendered. “But can you at least tell me what I can do to help you just now?”

 

Scout was quiet for a few moments. He was holding on to Sniper pretty tightly. “I just...” he tried, and swallowed hard, audibly. “I just gotta get outta my head for a while, okay? I’m gonna lose it if I’ve gotta be stuck in here much longer. I just need out for a little bit.”

 

Sniper tried to process that. “Okay... right, okay. What d’you... want me to do, then?”

 

“Fuck, I dunno, just... the usual shit helps?” Scout tried. “Just get down here, asshole.”

 

Sniper complied, bending down to give Scout easier access to kiss him again, and tried to remember what exactly their usual pattern was.

 

He managed to wrangle Scout to the actual cot somewhere along the line between them losing their clothes, trying to distract him away from the furious storm in his eyes by sucking him off as he opened the shorter man up, it having been a good minute or so since he and Scout had gotten properly tangled up.

 

But soon enough Scout was on top, hands on Sniper’s stomach and all but slamming his hips down with every bob, a ferocity there that hadn’t really ever been present previously. It left Sniper glad that he’d had the forethought of piling his pillow and blankets beneath his back to allow himself to sit up while Scout rode him, because otherwise he was sure he’d have tired out the muscles of his stomach, arching upwards every time Scout managed something particularly crafty with his hips. It was times like those that Sniper remembered, oh yeah, Scout’s whole job was running and climbing things, he had pretty strong legs, huh?

 

“Fuckin’ _Christ_ ,” Scout gritted out, motions amping up for a moment and making Sniper gasp, all of his own coherency lost to the swirling updrafts of need and desperation that were starting to clog the forefront of his mind. “God—fuckin’—“

 

Sniper reached a hand up to the back of Scout’s neck, dragged him forward towards himself, pressed their lips together for the few moments the both of them could handle before they broke a centimeter apart, essentially just panting and groaning into each other’s mouths. This angle didn’t let Scout move as quickly, but it did let Sniper kiss him, so he considered it worth it. “God,” he agreed, voice husky, eyes cracking open again to meet Scout’s.

 

And there was need there, and desperation, but underlying was something else. Something fragile. Or, something that _had_  been fragile, and then had been carelessly used and promptly broken into pieces, and hastily shoved back together. And it made Sniper let go of the back of Scout’s neck, instead holding on to either side of Scout’s face and kissing him again, softly this time, so terribly, horribly softly, and it made Scout’s rhythm falter to a stop, to a long pause before shaky, jerky bobs, a last-ditch attempt to hold himself together. But Sniper kept kissing him, and pulled back for air, and pressed right back in again, just as slow and soft as before, and finally Scout’s rhythm fell apart, just sinking forward and breathing out through his nose and shaking.

 

_Shaking._

 

He allowed them to ease back apart again, and he could see that Scout had a hundred thoughts running around in his head, could see it in the searching look he gave Sniper, but Scout didn’t say anything just yet. Sniper carefully carded hands through Scout’s hair, pushing it back from his face.

 

“Sorry for... ruinin’ the mood,” Sniper half-laughed, offering up a little smile.

 

“Didn’t ruin anything,” Scout assured, hardly a mumble. He took a few breaths, then rolled back into motion, a less frantic thing now, instead something extremely familiar. “Sorry for—for actin’ like, like some kinda dick.”

 

“Weren’t being a dick,” Sniper assured right back despite the breath having been knocked out of him, smoothing hands up Scout’s sides.

 

Scout grinned at him and bobbed just a little harder for a second, and Sniper allowed his head to fall back alongside a groan.

 

“Fuck, Scout,” Sniper groaned in his second breath as Scout leaned back just enough to comfortably return to a regular pace, albeit a calmer and steadier one now.

 

“Feels good?” Scout teased.

 

“Dunno,” Sniper teased right back, hands drifting to Scout’s chest, tweaking his nipples at very nearly the same time and grinning at the way Scout jumped. “Get back down here and kiss me again and maybe I’ll say.”

 

“Get to fuckin’ me and maybe I’ll think about it,” Scout replied, mimicking his tone.

 

Sniper’s grin widened. “Awright,” he said cheerfully, and sat up, wrapped an arm around Scout’s waist, and flipped them over.

 

Scout’s eyes were wide as Sniper then flipped him onto his stomach, pulling his hips up so he was on his knees, and he rose to his elbows of his own volition, glancing back at Sniper for a moment.

 

“I like the look’a this,” Sniper purred, kneading at Scout’s ass, before pulling his hips back slightly and sliding back in with a smooth motion, chuckling breathlessly at the little moan that Scout gave in reply. “Ready?”

 

Scout hummed in agreement, letting his elbows slide out from beneath him just a bit as Sniper set into an easy pace.

 

Sniper was by no means as well-exercised as Scout was with all of the running and jumping and climbing, but he didn’t need to be just then, not with the pace he’d gone for. Instead he could focus on other things, like leaning over Scout’s back and sucking a mark into the space between his shoulder blades, and the whine that Scout gave at such attentions. He wrapped a hand around and slid it down Scout’s stomach, taking hold of his cock and finding him rock-hard and practically dripping.

 

“Nearly there, love?” he asked, breathless against the back of Scout’s neck, and Scout arched towards him for it, moaning out some kind of agreement as Sniper started stroking him off, a lazy pace in counterpoint to his thrusts. “Hmm. Good.”

 

“Snipes,” Scout panted, hands twining into the sheets. “Snipes, please.”

 

Sniper’s reply was lying kisses down Scout’s spine as far as he could reach, sloppy things as he felt his own peak approaching, his rhythm falling apart just a bit, noises rising up in his throat as Scout bucked back against him.

 

And he found himself gritting his teeth, breath catching in his chest as he tried to hold on, tried to last just a bit longer, just a bit longer still, and when he finally created the edge it was with a dizzying sense of relief, because he knew Scout, and knew that the sounds he made just then meant he was just there on the edge.

 

“Fuck,” he panted, unable to keep the desperation out of his tone, the euphoria. “Fuck, Jeremy.”

 

And Scout jerked below him, and cried out weakly, and made a mess of Sniper’s hand, and then they were still.

 

Sniper pulled out carefully, taking note of the tension still in Scout’s back. He pressed a kiss at Scout’s uppermost vertebrae, and further noted the way the tension seemed to roll up to meet his lips for just a moment.

 

A gentle push at Scout’s shoulder and he fell onto his side, and Sniper moved to lie just across from him. Scout’s arm was up over his face, nose buried in the crook of his elbow, eyes covered.

 

Sniper’s words came back to him in a delayed echo, and tension rose into his own back, cutting through any meager afterglow. “...Mate?” he tried, hesitating for a moment before he reached out and touched Scout’s chest.

 

Scout jumped, jaw clenching, and swallowed hard, turning his face down towards the mattress. “Mm-hmm?” he tried, mouth shut tight.

 

“You... you awright?” Sniper asked next, gentle brush turning into a gentle press of his palm over Scout’s still-heaving chest, not quite come down just yet.

 

Still-heaving. Still-heaving. Sniper realized all at once that it wasn’t from the exertion, it was something else.

 

“Scout?” he asked, alarm rising in him rapidly, and tried to push at Scout’s arm, tried to get a look at his face. Scout’s arm wouldn’t budge.

 

Scout shook his head, curling up further, and all at once he was jerking upwards, moving over Sniper to get off the bed, keeping his face turned away as he moved to pick up his clothes. “I’m good.”

 

His voice begged to differ, wobbly. “Was... was usin’ your name not alright?” Sniper asked next.

 

Tension in Scout’s shoulders, displaying that Sniper was right on the money. “It was fine.”

 

“I don’t believe you,” Sniper said carefully.

 

“It—“ Scout yanked his shirt on almost too-roughly, head getting stuck for a moment in his haste. “It, it was good. I just don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

“Mate—“

 

“It, it was... you didn’t do anything wrong, alright? I swear. I just,” Scout raked a hand through his hair, ignoring the way his shirt stuck to him oddly due to sweat and other fluids. “It was good, it was just _too_  good, and I just need a minute. Okay?”

 

“ _Mate_ —“ Sniper tried again.

 

“I’ll be back later, just, I can’t—“

 

Sniper snagged Scout’s wrist as he took a step towards the door, and blurted the first thing he could think to say.

 

“Please don’t run again,” he stammered, and Scout froze up.

 

There was a pause. Scout’s hand was shaking beneath Sniper’s.

 

He carefully, carefully turned Scout around. As he feared, the younger man’s eyes were red. He’d hastily wiped his hands before he got up, but still hesitated for the barest moment before he cupped Scout’s face, pulling it close so he could kiss him gently—so very gently, aware that this moment was delicate—just below one eye, then the other. It made Scout smile, just a little, before it got swept away again by whatever was going on in his head.

 

“I won’t make you talk now,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. “We both need a shower and a rest, and by the time we’ve got those it’ll be dinner, then we’ll likely want to sleep again. But can you promise that you’ll... sometime soon, just... start?”

 

Scout’s hands rose between them, and after a beat of hesitation landed on Sniper’s shoulders, not pushing, just feeling. His right one slid down just over where Sniper’s pulse was strongest, and felt the strange, off-beat rhythm of a heart and a mad doctor’s strange miracle machine.

 

“I want to,” Scout said, voice quiet despite himself. “I really do.”

 

“Then why _can’t_  you?” Sniper asked, voice cracking down the middle.

 

Scout mustered a smile again. “Because this kinda thing doesn’t usually go well for me, y’know? I’ll open my big fuckin’ mouth and...” His gaze fell. “...and you’re gonna turn around and run while you still can. And, and I get why, and—“

 

“What if I don’t?” Sniper cut in.

 

Scout’s gaze flicked back up to meet Sniper’s, confused. “What?”

 

“What if I don’t?” He stroked his thumbs over Scout’s cheeks. “You’re a risk-taker, if I know you even a little. Don’t you have more to gain than to lose here?”

 

“Lots to lose,” Scout protested under his breath.

 

Sniper shook his head with a sigh. “But you can’t be sure, can you?”

 

“Guess not,” Scout mumbled, and didn’t sound at all convinced.

 

Sniper managed a smile. “Either way. Problem for later,” he said. He leaned in and gave Scout a peck on the head. “Let’s just think about right now.”

 

“Right now,” Scout agreed, exhaling all in a rush. “Yeah.”

 

“Well, right now, could you step aside? You’re stood on my trousers,” Sniper said, tone full of humor.

 

Scout glanced down, then back up, going a bit red. “Oh, shit. Yeah, okay,” he said hurriedly, moving aside so Sniper could start getting dressed. He nearly tripped and fell in the process. Sniper tried not to laugh too much.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He didn’t even remember what the argument started over. Work had started back up again, all of them jumping back into battle and warming back into what skills they’d neglected over contract season. He and Scout therefore didn’t see each other much for a few days, both taking to getting practice in on the things they’d gone rusty at. Sniper took to evenings at the little makeshift shooting range out in the opposite direction of the base from him, as did some of the others (much less frequently), and he could hear carrying over the empty space the sound of a metal bat colliding rhythmically with baseballs from the also-makeshift batting cage. Technically one could also use the space for melee target practice, but Scout was basically the only one to use it.

 

And finally Friday rolled around, and he found he had many more frustrations to work out than he’d remembered, and he and Scout took their tumble and promptly turned in.

 

And Scout had gotten up and gotten dressed and left in the morning shortly after Sniper had woken up, and returned later in the evening with a six-pack of beer, and Sniper asked if he wanted to do a campfire and set to work on the beers while outside in some fresh air, and Scout had agreed.

 

And Sniper made the fire, and they’d talked about the week, and some of the more interesting things they’d seen, and Sniper drank one beer and Scout was setting the work on his second one when...

 

No, Sniper _did_  remember what the fight was about.

 

Scout had been... joking, about something, and his voice had cracked on a word, very loudly and obviously. And it halted him right in his tracks, and Sniper laughed and started teasing him over it.

 

“Aww, someone headed through puberty again?” Sniper teased, reaching over and pinching Scout’s cheek.

 

“Dude, shut up, my throat’s just dry, alright?” Scout defended, face going red as he smacked Sniper’s hand away lightly.

 

“Yeah? Throat’s dry?” Sniper kept on, pinching his other cheek now, in an oddly playful mood, maybe from the contentment of the fire and the nice night and the beer and the companionship. “You sure it’s not hormones?”

 

“Just shut up, man,” Scout huffed, rolling his eyes in an attempt at dismissiveness.

 

“Hey, maybe this time around you’ll get some hair on your face,” Sniper said anyways, tugging on Scout’s ear now, quite enjoying the blush Scout had going. “Maybe you’ll get tall, too. Get a voice like Heavy and bulk up.”

 

If he’d been paying better attention, he would’ve processed in that moment that Scout didn’t seem to be laughing. “Knock it off already, I get it,” he said, voice quieter now.

 

“You’ll come out the other side lookin’ like Saxton Hale if you’re lucky, won’t you? And maybe then you could get out of here and be a model or the like,” Sniper insisted. “Not that there’s not a market for slim babyface prettyboys, mind you.”

 

Scout didn’t say anything, just shoving his hands away, a tightness in his jaw.

 

All at once Sniper pieced together that Scout didn’t seem to think Sniper was being funny. “Hey, c’mon now. Lighten up, take a joke, mate,” he goaded, knocking elbows. “I’m just messin’ about.”

 

Scout stood up abruptly, picked up his bottle, started pacing. He took a swig, clutched at the glass tightly, wringing its neck. “Yeah,” he said under his breath, “you do that.”

 

Sniper’s mirth faded. “...M’sorry?” he asked, browns furrowing.

 

“I said _yeah, you do that_ ,” Scout repeated, louder now, not looking at Sniper. “You love just messin’ around. That’s why I’m here, because you’re just all about _”messin’ around”_ , yeah?” He made air quotes with the hand not holding the bottle, a jerky motion.

 

“What’re you on about?” Sniper asked slowly.

 

“Y’know, _messin’ around_ , that thing where we make out and you fuck me and then we clean up and barely talk to each other outside of the bi-weekly session and then rinse and repeat for a year.”

 

Distantly, Sniper’s mind echoed back the words “a year”.

 

“And, y’know, you do stuff like pin me to a wall to make out next to the sex shop, and buy me soda, and call me when you’re off-base, and—make a fuckin’ campfire.” Scout kicked some of the sand underfoot onto the fire in question, making it jump wildly. “And then you joke around and you try an’ tell me what to do and you get mad at me all the goddamn time and you keep askin’ me all these—all these _questions_ , all these fuckin’ _questions_  about what’s _wrong_  or somethin’ even though I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk about it.”

 

“You’ve told me you _do_  want to talk about it,” Sniper replied without waiting.

 

Scout sighed sharply, tugging at the brim of his cap fretfully. “Well, maybe I don’t know _what_  the hell I want, okay?”

 

Sniper stood up as well. “Well, maybe I don’t believe you,” he said, voice flat.

 

Scout looked at him, pausing in his pacing for only a moment before he was back to it again, not deigning to even give that a response. He lifted the bottle to take a chug off of it again.

 

“Scout.” And Sniper took a few steps forward, forcing Scout to either stop his pacing or make them collide, with Scout choosing the first. “I said, I don’t believe you.”

 

Scout narrowed his eyes. “And?” Another chug from the bottle before he was back to glaring.

 

Sniper calmly took hold of the bottle, lifting it from Scout’s hand lightly to a bit of confusion, and took a moment to glance over the label and down within to see the remaining two-thirds of the liquid inside, then chucked it overhand out into the desert.

 

Silence. Scout looked shocked out of words for a few moments, mouth slightly open, eyes wide.

 

“You ready to talk to me like an adult yet?” Sniper asked, and he tried to keep calm, he really did, but some of his frustration was bubbling up anyways.

 

And yeah, the shock was gone in a flash, replaced by anger. “Aight, _fuck_  you,” Scout said, and shoved him, making him stumble a step before he caught himself. “Who the _hell_  do you think you are?!”

 

“The same bloke who’s been sleeping with you and tryin’ to talk to you for a _year_ ,” Sniper said, shoving him right back, voice rising in turn.

 

“Leave me the hell _a_ _lone!”_ Scout all but shouted, shoving much harder this time.

 

“Yeah? Or what?” Sniper snarled, looking over Scout, taking hold of the collar of his shirt. “Gonna yell some more?”

 

And a lot of emotions were present on Scout’s face for a split-second, and Scout reared his hand back, clenched tight in a fist, and Sniper blacked out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He processed two things, waking up; first, that he was still outside. Second, that he was on his back, which he was fairly certain hadn’t been the case when he’d originally been knocked out.

 

He blinked his eyes open, and bit back a groan at the way his head pounded. Yeah, face-up. He turned his head to the left, and noted the campfire was basically out, mostly just smouldering. Sky was pretty dark too. He then turned his head to the right, and saw his camper, and saw a pair of legs dangling over the edge of the roof.

 

He managed to force himself into a sitting position, and couldn’t bite back a groan this time as the muscles of his back ached from being on the hard ground for so long. The legs didn’t move.

 

He took a minute or two to recover, stretch out his legs, his arm, his aching neck and back. He lit himself a cigarette to take the edge off the pain, then he made his attempt at climbing the ladder.

 

Scout was laid down on his back, a blankness to his expression as he stared up at the sky, and it very much didn’t suit him. Sniper sat with a good amount of distance between them, and Scout plopped something in the space between them.

 

Sniper took it cautiously, and almost flinched at the temperature before he realized it was a bag of ice—slightly melted, but still quite cold. He put it on the side of his face that Scout had—and yeah, it was coming back to him now, delayed.

 

Scout took a swig from a bottle Sniper also didn’t see, still having not looked over, and returned the bottle to his side.

 

“Drinking again?” Sniper asked, a stab of grief in his chest.

 

“It’s soda,” Scout said, voice much too quiet, holding it up for Sniper to see. It was one of the strange flavors Sniper had picked up weeks ago. “Got it when I got the ice.”

 

Sniper nodded, trying not to relax _too_  obviously, and carefully laid back as well, the gentle almost-curve of the roof actually feeling a bit good on his sore back. He took a pull from his cigarette.

 

“I’m sorry I cold-clocked you,” Scout mumbled, voice toneless.

 

“I’m sorry I pushed you,” Sniper returned, an exhale of smoke.

 

“I pushed you first,” Scout pointed out.

 

“To talk, I mean,” Sniper clarified. “Though I _am_  sorry for both.”

 

Scout stared up at nothing. “Can I make it up to you?”

 

Sniper looked him over. “How so?”

 

“Talkin’.”

 

Sniper considered the offer for a few moments. “...Only if you want,” he decided on.

 

Scout searched for his words for a few moments, almost mouthing them, looking between the stars aimlessly. “It’s just... it’s fuckin’ stupid.”

 

Sniper hummed in question.

 

“This thing. Up here,” Scout clarified, tapping at his own temple. “Fuckin’ stupid.”

 

“Your brain?” Sniper asked with a touch of humor.

 

“No,” Scout said seriously, looking up at the sky like it was answers. “There’s somethin’ else in there.”

 

Sniper wasn’t sure what he meant. He took a pull from his cigarette.

 

“An’ just—the fuckin’, the _everything_ , man,” he said, gesturing outward with his arms. His fingertips collided with the bottle. He didn’t pay it any mind. “It’s fuckin’ _stupid_ , y’know?”

 

“How so?” Sniper asked. The stars had started to blur together behind the cigarette smoke, but Scout hadn’t.

 

He exhaled, arms falling back to his sides. “It’s just... the world’s so _big_  and _gasping_ ,” he breathed. “There’s all these big big ideas and things and places, and these big empty spaces in between everything else, and then there’s just _me_. It’s like, it’s like in space—all this _big_  stuff with all this _nothing_  and all this, this _dust_. And then there’s just... the world. The earth. With a bunch more _dust_ , except that dust thinks it matters. Everything’s small, even the big ideas, unless you’re the dust. Then suddenly everything, all the smallest stuff, is so _big_  and _far_  and _empty_ , and.” He took a breath to steady himself. “And I’m the dust.”

 

He wasn’t sure exactly what to make of any of that. It made sense, but only in the way that things did exactly in the moment, and then never again. “The stars don’t look so far apart from here,” he said, looking up at the sky again. “They look like they’d all be right near each other.”

 

A half-laugh despite nothing being particularly funny. “How’s there so much all crammed onto one tiny planet,” he asked, “and you’re the only person within a thousand miles that I know?”

 

In the scope of such a large sky, the moon looked so small. “ _Do_ you know me?” he asked.

 

Silence for a few moments. “I dunno,” he replied. “But I think you’re a pretty big idea.”

 

“What happened to you, Scout?” Sniper asked, looking at his face, thrown drastic in the moonlight. The bags under his eyes were defined. His smile looked like it was made of melting plastic. “I get the feeling you were happy, once. Had a chance at a real life outside of all this mess. What ever happened to you?”

 

Scout didn’t break their gazes, this time. Just looked at him with those sad eyes, that sad smile.

 

“Nothin’ I didn’t deserve,” he said.

 

“You should get out of here,” Sniper said, only able to because the nearest cameras were all the way back in the base, the ones that had been planted in his camper found and carelessly treated long ago. “You could still go, if you wanted. Wait out your contract, live a life, be a good person. You’ve still got a chance.”

 

“I was never a good person,” Scout huffed, blinking slowly at Sniper. “And whether I’m in this big empty space in the middle of fuckall nowhere or the big empty space crammed into the city, I’ll still just be dust. And no matter where I go, I’ll still have to deal with _this_.” He tapped at his temple again.

 

Something in Sniper’s chest hurt. He looked back up at the sky.

 

“Why do you care, anyways?” Scout asked.

 

“Why do you think I _don’t_  care?” Sniper asked in return.

 

“Why the hell would you?”

 

Sniper just looked at him for a few moments. “Do you really think I don’t care? Not even a little bit? After _all_  this time?” he asked, quiet now.

 

“Maybe I just don’t think...” And he trailed off for a moment, and looked back up to say the last few words. “...That you _should_.”

 

Sniper blinked. Took the cigarette from his mouth carefully.

 

“And... it’s not that you aren’t good to me. You’re great, you really are. I just... I didn’t _do_  anything. To earn it. And... I told you, it sounds fuckin’ stupid, I just, I don’t...”

 

Scout swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut to collect his stuttering into one place. When he opened his eyes, he’d steeled himself a bit, and looked away towards the sky, because it seemed like that was easier.

 

“I just, every time, ever since that first time when I came onto you and we did whatever out in a storage room somewhere and then started sleeping together, I just...” A waver. Sniper’s chest was aching already, not from sore muscles. “Just, the way you looked at me. That felt like the first time someone’s _looked_  at me in, in forever, in years, in so long. And, and I dunno if you even really _saw_  me, but, but you _looked_ , and... and I just couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

 

Sniper almost wanted to reach a hand out. He didn’t know if Scout would appreciate it.

 

“And... fuck, I just. The only time it ever felt like anyone really _looked_  at me was when you were there, and I would do fucking _anything_  you wanted if it meant you kept looking at me every once in a while. I would do _anything_  for someone, for _anyone_  in the fuckin’ _world_  to just... just _look_  at me. Anything.”

 

“That’ll get you hurt one day,” he said carefully. “Someone’ll take advantage of that one day.”

 

“Someone already did,” was his response, broken.

 

Sniper sat up. “What?”

 

Scout sat up too, but bent to hide his face between his knees, curling up into himself protectively. “You heard me,” he tried to spit, but it wavered.

 

Cold, freezing cold, deep in his chest, colder than the bag of ice Sniper was barely remembering to hold to his face. _“What?”_

 

Scout shook his head. “I lied. I lied a lot, about, about the other times,” he managed. “With those other people I slept with. That first one really did happen like that, but the... the other one was different. I lied.”

 

Sniper didn’t know what to say.

 

“I was just, out at a bar, because I wanted to try dating again, and it was my third weekend in a row where I didn’t have any real luck, but then there was this girl, and she...” He swallowed hard. “And she was really cool, and nice, and pretty, and she said she’d bought all these drinks but she needed to drive home and hey, wouldn’t I be a doll and drink ‘em for her so they didn’t go to waste? And I’d already had a drink or two, but I said sure, because they tasted all sweet and I couldn’t really taste the alcohol that much so I figured they wouldn’t fuck me up too bad...”

 

Sniper winced, already knowing better than that.

 

“And I got all fucked up on ‘em, and I figured, shit, I didn’t know if I could walk all the way home like that, because I didn’t drive there in the first place, I walked. And she said hey, there’s...” And Scout had to take deep breath real quick, and a second, less steady one. “There was this hotel right next door for pretty cheap, I could just stay the night there, and she’d even help pay for it since she’s the reason I got so sloshed and because I was all sweet, and, and wouldn’t I just, finish up that one drink and then we could start walkin’, and...”

 

Icy, icy cold. Sniper wasn’t sure he could move even if he wanted to just then.

 

“And I blacked out for a little bit, but then I was in a hotel, and I was on the bed, and she was also there and she was talkin’ to me, and somethin’ happened to my shirt, and...”

 

A hiccup from Scout, or maybe just a breath hitching oddly.

 

“And I said I didn’t wanna do nothin’, because I could barely handle kissin’ right then and I didn’t feel right about it, but she says to shut up because I was lucky to get anything and I was a guy anyways and guys always, want, and, and I,” another hiccup, “I-I said, I _told_  ‘er, I _told_  ‘er I didn’t, didn’t wanna—“

 

Scout’s words stuttered out as Sniper finally managed to force himself into motion, moving over and pulling Scout into an embrace. He didn’t hesitate any more than a moment before he was turning in Sniper’s arms, hugging him tightly, too tightly around the middle, face buried into his shirt. “S’alright,” Sniper managed, his own voice unsteady. “You don’t need to talk about it.”

 

“You deserve to know,” Scout choked out.

 

“I don’t deserve bugger all. Doesn’t matter. You _don’t_  need to talk about it, not unless you’re sure you want to,” Sniper insisted, tone deadly serious.

 

“No, you deserve to know,” Scout insisted right back, clinging tighter. “You deserve to know that I’m a fuckin’ coward, that I’m all fucked up because I’m stupid and reckless and, and it ain’t anyone’s fault but mine and—“

 

“Jeremy, you stop that _right now_ ,” Sniper all but spat, not angry with him, angry instead with every other person in the world who’d ever allowed this to happen, ever allowed Scout to think any of that, possibly including himself. Scout did stop talking, at least for a moment. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t.”

 

“I could’a hit her, and yelled,” Scout protested, voice muffled and weak and just barely holding on. “But I didn’t, I just... I laid there, I shut up.”

 

Admittedly, that did seem odd, and unlike the Scout that Sniper knew. Scout didn’t hold back, was always one odd look from a stranger away from starting a brawl, or one particularly sassy teammate away from doling out a black eye and some busted teeth. “You were drunk,” Sniper did say.

 

“No. I mean, I, I _was_ , but, I _decided_  not to, I...” Scout was clearly trying to get ahold of himself, and wasn’t doing well.

 

“...Why?” Sniper prompted after a few moments.

 

“You don’t hit a girl, especially not a girl you like, or one you’re kissin’, that’s, that’s fucked up,” Scout said. “And guys are supposed to always want it anyways, and whenever I tried to get out of, of the way she had my wrist stuck to the headboard she’d, she’d smack me and, and I just, I wasn’t _thinkin’_  right, I was just all panicked, I...”

 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sniper said firmly. “She’s the one that acted that way and hurt you, and it would’ve served her right to get arrested over it.”

 

Scout sniffled. “But... we’re guys,” Scout tried, sounding very confused. “That doesn’t count.”

 

Another flare of anger at the entire world, brief and quickly snuffed out in favor of holding Scout tighter. “Doesn’t matter,” Sniper said, leaving no room for argument. “That’s not what any of this is supposed to be. It’s supposed to be good for everyone involved, not just one person. You deserve to be able to... to say no, to want things different. God damn it, you’re a _person_.”

 

Scout shifted in his arms, only slightly, and Sniper slowly, over the course of several seconds, thought of something.

 

“...Wait. With me,” he started to say, careful, slow, “I... have I ever... done something you didn’t want me to do?” A second realization. “Did you ever even... _want_  any of this?”

 

Scout sniffled again. “I, no, yeah, I...” Hard swallow. “There was the first time I tried to top and freaked out, but, you stopped right away, and then... I, just stuff like that. I always... wanted to be there. It’s never been that I didn’t wanna be there with you. It’s _you_. I... and at first it was... _kinda_  that I was just doin’ stuff to maybe get off, and, and because... I just wanted someone to _look_  at me. But. Then somewhere towards the start it... it was somethin’ else too.”

 

“Something else?” Sniper repeated, frowning.

 

Sniffle. “I can’t even get into it right now,” Scout mumbled. “I’m just... drained. You did it, congrats. I’m drained. First person to ever manage that. I’d give you a trophy, but I’m still not allowed out by myself to get one.”

 

Sniper laughed. “That’s fair. Both the being tuckered out, and also the... other thing.”

 

“Other thing,” Scout mumbled, almost laughing.

 

“I’m not good with words. You know this,” Sniper chided, and kissed Scout briefly on the top of his head.

 

Scout huffed a laugh, and took a few breaths. One morphed into a sigh. “God, I’m a loser.”

 

“You’re not a loser,” Sniper replied without missing a beat.

 

“I knocked you out and drank your soda then ruined your shirt by cryin’ all over it on your roof at like midnight.”

 

“Not a loser,” Sniper repeated. “If you’re a loser, we all are. That'd be setting the bar fairly high.”

 

“What non-loser qualities do I have goin’ for me?” Scout asked dryly.

 

“You’re sweet,” Sniper started. “You’re brave, you’ve got a mean right hook, a meaner left hook. You can make maps when you’re asked to. You can tie a cherry stem in your mouth, and actually enjoy strange soda, and play a good hand of cards. And you’re awful cute when you wanna be, and still good-looking when you aren’t thinkin’ about it.”

 

“Shut up, I get it,” Scout mumbled. “Please just can it.”

 

“Only because you asked so nice,” Sniper acquiesced with a chuckle, and kissed him on the head again.

 

They were quiet for a little while, still just holding tight to each other, despite Sniper’s muscles starting to protest the slightly-awkward angle. The ice in the bag not far away shifted against itself as it melted, making a small noise. The last crackles and hisses of the fire rose up alongside the sound of a few crickets somewhere in the distance.

 

“I’ve still got somethin’ else to say, I just...” Scout yawned, cutting himself off. “It’s just important, and I don’t wanna fuck it up just because I’m... tired.”

 

Sniper hummed, rocked him lightly.

 

“Oh, don’t fuckin’ do that, I’m gonna fall asleep on you,” Scout warned under his breath lowly. “And I don’t think you’ll want me to fall asleep on you when we’re on a roof.”

 

“Bedtime?” Sniper asked lightly.

 

“Yeah. I’ll go get somethin’ to sleep in, it’ll be like, ten minutes, or, or I, I know I’ve been in your space all damn weekend, I could go back to my own room for the night if you—“

 

“Just borrow one’a my shirts to sleep in for the night,” Sniper replied, voice light. “It’ll be fine.” Truthfully, he just didn't want to leave Scout alone for the night. For a few different reasons, none of them clear enough to vocalize to himself.

 

“You’re sure?” Scout mumbled, too sleepy to really protest.

 

“I’m sure. Up you get, I’d carry you in if there weren’t a ladder, but as it is I suppose I’ll need to forget being a gentleman any more tonight.”

 

“You could carry me inside, maybe,” Scout offered, getting up, wiping at his eyes loosely. His face was a bit puffy, but his eyes looked clear. Not completely clear, there was still something lingering in there, but clearer than they’d been for a long time. “Just in case my legs give out during any of the four steps it takes to to bed.”

 

“Sure thing. You’ll need to get the ice, though,” Sniper said, not really fighting back a smile. "Can't carry both."

 

“Deal.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[there will be an epilogue, hopefully this time it won't take a month. thanks for the patience]]


	6. Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[anyways]]

 

 

Maybe morning should’ve been awkward. After all, the right side of Sniper’s face had a big patch that was black-and-blue, and Scout was still pretty shaken, proven by the fact that he was genuinely hard to wake up, and outright refused to get out of bed at first.

 

They spent a long while just lying around, facing towards each other, one of Sniper’s arms over top of Scout and the other used to prop his own head up a bit, both of Scout’s just tangling up in the front of his own shirt—or, well, Sniper’s shirt, but being worn by him, because he hadn’t left over any pajamas.

 

Scout had his eyes closed, presumably against the meager morning light filtering into the room, and Sniper’s eyes drifted over his face for a while. He seemed just a little sickly—dark circles and a paleness and a thinness to his face that wasn’t always present. But he looked at least a little better than he had the night before, mainly in terms of the dark circles. Sniper also just spent a while just... looking. After a while of seeing someone, it was easy to get used to their appearance, and stop thinking about what exactly they looked like. And taking a moment to just _look_  again, Sniper was reminded that Scout wasn’t nearly as babyfaced as the rest of the team (and himself) liked to joke. He did have somewhat rounded features, and very pretty eyelashes, but there was also just a little bit of stubble growing on his face. It was hard to notice due to the fact that the color blended in well with the combination of a blondish tint and Scout’s already-tanned skin, and Sniper knew from the younger man’s previous complaining that he didn’t have to shave very often, but it was present nonetheless. And Scout had freckles as well, also relatively light, but standing out a bit more than usual with how pale his complexion had apparently gone as of late. And, as he looked, he saw that Scout had scars—the thin remainder of a split lip, clearly from a long time ago, and a couple small marks around his chin and jaw, and a little divot of a scrape up at his hairline. They probably all had stories to them. Sniper tried to piece them together, figure out where they came from, and was distracted by Scout’s face tilting in an idle yawn, readjusting, those eyelashes fluttering for a moment.

 

And he wasn’t sure how long he spent just sort of... looking. He tended to lose track of time when things were quiet and still. Par for the course with his job description. But the sunlight crept along, and Scout’s abdomen rose and fell in a steady rhythm beneath Sniper’s arm.

 

“Jeremy,” Sniper said, whisper-quiet.

 

Scout blinked his eyes open lightly, still too sleepy to remember to be nervous about eye contact.

 

“Would you like to know my name?” he asked, voice just a breath.

 

Scout blinked again, a slow thing, the same amount of time it took his chest to fall in an exhale. “Huh?” he asked, voice a tired rasp.

 

“Would you like to know my name?” he repeated, knowing full well that Scout had heard him the first time.

 

Scout was quiet for a long few moments. “Okay,” he said, clearly not fully processing what that meant.

 

Sniper’s gaze fell to a little freckle just above one corner of Scout’s mouth. “When I was a kid,” he started, “in secondary school, I tended to get pushed around a bit. Mostly in the way that kids do, except at some point it stopped being me as a tyke being dared to eat mud or else I was a pansie, and started being... books knocked down, sack lunch thrown out the window, that sort of thing. And then kids stopped calling me by my first name so much, wanted to play tough and just call me by my last one.”

 

Scout nodded slightly, blinked again, maybe in understanding, or sympathy, or just to show that he was listening.

 

“Anyways, I stopped going by my first name everywhere but home, with mum and dad. Everywhere else, even the teachers started calling me by my last name only.” He looked Scout in the eyes again for a moment, keeping his expression relaxed and his voice quiet. “Mundy.”

 

Scout’s gaze flicked between either of his eyes, looking for something.

 

“And then when I left home, started... doing other things, before mercenary work,” Sniper continued, “I still went by it. Dunno why. Didn’t feel like _my_  name anymore, felt like everyone else’s name for me, same way that my first name didn’t. It was just the thing my mum calls me. Just... m’not sure if this makes much sense.”

 

“It does,” Scout said quietly, voice encouraging if hesitant.

 

Sniper smiled. “Well. Regardless, as much as it didn’t fit then, it fits even less now,” he said. “I like going by my title. It’s something I did myself, the one skill I really have going for me, the place I carved out in the world for a person like me. The Sniper. My work being what speaks for me and all that.” A pause. “And the nickname Snipes is also rather good.”

 

That got Scout to flash a little smile of his own. “Glad you like it.”

 

Sniper allowed himself a slow exhale. “Either way, I thought maybe it was something you ought to know, the name that I went by before the murder business. So, now you know.”

 

Scout took a few seconds to think about that. “Mundy,” he repeated quietly.

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

“Hey, thanks,” Scout said quietly, a hand rising between them to rest in the center of Sniper’s chest.

 

“No problem,” Sniper replied easily, eyes falling closed for a moment, drowsiness trying to overtake him again.

 

“Hey, really. Look at me.” A hand resting on his cheek, lightly enough to not hurt the bruise there, and Sniper opened his eyes again. Scout’s expression was solemn. “Thanks. I know you don’t... y’know, don’t really like tellin’ me stuff like this. And, and I appreciate it.”

 

“Told you, it’s no problem,” Sniper repeated, his own hand rising to take hold of Scout’s, thumb stroking over the back of his knuckles. “I’d... prefer not to give more than that, truthfully, but I’m alright with... with you knowin’ an old nickname like that.”

 

“Mundy,” Scout mumbled again. “Mr. Mundy.”

 

Sniper felt a smile pulling at his face despite himself, and ignored the way it made the bruise ache. “Y’know how you get on my case about my pronunciation all the time?” he started in. “Say that again real fast for me?”

 

Scout pouted at him, sensing the jokes incoming. “What, Mr. Mundy?”

 

Sniper felt a laugh rising in his chest. “The way you say the word mister is—I’m not laughing at you, promise, it’s just real cute,” he said. _“Mistah. Ay, yo, mistah.”_

 

Scout rolled his eyes. “I don’t even sound like that, you suck at accents.”

 

“Oi, c’mon, I already said it was cute,” Sniper chuckled.

 

Scout pouted further, poking him in the cheek with the hand Sniper was holding.

 

“Ow,” Sniper winced, bruise flaring for a moment. “Awright, awright. Sheesh.”

 

Scout looked like he was holding back a laugh, and closed his eyes again, relaxing.

 

“We should really get up,” Sniper pointed out, sensing that Scout was trying to go back to sleep.

 

“Don’t feel like it,” Scout mumbled.

 

Sniper sighed. “Look, usually I wouldn’t make a fuss over it,” he started to say. “But you really ought to get something to eat, and I know someone usually makes breakfast for everyone else on Sundays.”

 

Scout opened his eyes just enough to look a little disappointed. “...Why would I need to eat any more than usual?” he tried. Pale face, tired eyes.

 

Sniper just looked at him, quirked an eyebrow only slightly.

 

Scout sighed, turning to bury his face in the pillow. “Shit, am I really that obvious?” he said, muffled.

 

“Nah. I’m just observant,” Sniper replied, giving a consoling pat to Scout’s shoulder. “Come on. Up you get.”

 

Scout groaned. “Gimme like, ten minutes,” he muttered.

 

Sniper rolled his eyes, but found himself agreeing regardless. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’m getting up, though.”

 

He carefully maneuvered himself out of bed, standing and moving to pick up the clothes Scout had left on the ground when he’d changed for bed, putting them on the table instead. He took a sip from his canteen first and foremost once the tripping hazard was taken care of, the water lukewarm but nice nonetheless on his sleep-dry throat. He put the canteen down long enough to stretch, arms arching up above his head, gritting his teeth as something in his back popped, followed by two more somethings. A yawn rippled through him, drawing a vague sound from his chest.

 

“Hot,” Scout murmured from behind him.

 

Sniper glanced over his shoulder and noted that Scout had apparently rolled over, cocooned himself in the extra blankets he now had, and was watching as Sniper moved around, eyes fixated on Sniper’s bare back in particular, only looking up at his face after a good moment had passed, perfectly shameless.

 

“Hot y’self,” Sniper laughed, and took another moment to finish stretching, and ducked into the bathroom.

 

He forewent shaving, if nothing else then because the bruise on his face probably wouldn’t take kindly to a razor, and the stubble helped make it look a _little_  less bad. Instead he just brushed his teeth and gelled his hair back out of his face and went to make coffee.

 

He was stood at the counter, idly tapping his fingers against its surface and waiting for the coffee to brew, when a pair of warm, skinny arms wrapped around his middle.

 

Sniper smiled. “Been ten minutes?” he asked lightly.

 

Scout hummed, not particularly in agreement or disagreement. He pressed close to Sniper’s back, holding on tight, lying a kiss on the back of his neck just below his hairline.

 

Sniper put a hand over top of one of Scout’s arms, other hand moving to pull a mug from the cabinet. “You’re awful cuddly all of a sudden,” he noted. “Wake up in a good mood?”

 

“Maybe,” Scout hummed, squeezing Sniper around the middle and kissing a few more times, all lightly.

 

“You tryin’ to start somethin’?” Sniper asked, unable to keep the amusement from his tone.

 

“Maybe,” Scout repeated.

 

“You tryin’ to lure me back into bed so you don’t have to get dressed and go to breakfast?” he asked finally, watching the coffee pot start filling up.

 

Quiet for a second. “...Maybe.”

 

Sniper chuckled to himself. “Go on now, your shirt’s on the table,” he said, reaching a hand back to Scout’s head, scratching through his hair briefly. “Any idea who’s makin’ brekkie today?”

 

“Brekkie,” Scout repeated, laughing a little himself, not letting go just yet. “Uh, I dunno, Hardhat maybe? Mumbles did it last week, and usually those two trade off on it, but, I dunno.”

 

“Hm. He’s good at cooking, aren’t ‘e?” Sniper asked, not entirely sure.

 

“Yeah. Him and Demo. Pyro is like, okay? Real good at pancakes, alright at bacon.”

 

“Well, you better start getting dressed if you want to get more than just the scraps,” Sniper prodded.

 

“Yeah, whatever,” Scout said, still not moving.

 

Sniper started pouring his coffee. “I _will_  just leave you here if I’m done getting ready first, don’t think I won’t,” he warned.

 

“Aw, c’mon man, why are you bein’ such a dick?” Scout whined, even as he released Sniper and, from the sound behind him, started fiddling with his clothes.

 

“Only way to get you to actually get dressed,” Sniper replied easily, and drank his coffee, and it burned his tongue, dragging a noise of discomfort and vague alarm from him.

 

“You okay?” Scout asked.

 

“Burned my tongue,” Sniper mumbled, breathing out harshly to try and cool it, reaching for his canteen.

 

“Aw, poor you,” Scout teased. “Karma, motherfucker.”

 

Sniper half turned to shoot him a look even as he tilted his head back and drank from the canteen, a few good gulps. Scout just grinned at him, and Sniper pouted when he finally lowered the canteen. “It did hurt, you know,” he complained. “If you hadn’t been distracting me, I would’ve remembered to cool it like I usually do. Your fault, technically.”

 

Scout leaned back against the table, still grinning, Sniper’s shirt unbuttoned over the pair of the previous day’s pants that he’d pulled on. “Yeah? What do you want me to do, kiss it better?” Scout asked suggestively, eyebrows arching.

 

Sniper had to fight _hard_  to keep a straight face, and lost the battle after a second, turning his head away as a matching smile pulled at his features. And that aside, he really didn’t have a good reply to that. A second passed before he looked back at Scout. “Awright, that—that was smooth. I’ll... give you full points for that. That was a really good one,” he admitted.

 

“Damn right,” Scout said, all too proud of himself.

 

Sniper rolled his eyes, moving to pick up his coffee cup again, blowing lightly on it.

 

“...Well?” Scout prompted.

 

“Hmm?” Sniper hummed, looking back.

 

“Aren’t you gonna let me kiss it better?”

 

Sniper smiled again, a dull ache from the bruise following. “Aren’t you planning on getting dressed?” he returned.

 

“I mean...” Scout took a step and a half forward, hands landing on Sniper’s waist. “Why bother puttin’ on clothes if I might end up right back out of ‘em, y’know?”

 

Sniper put the coffee cup on the counter, an arm rising to wrap up over Scout’s shoulders and pull him in for a kiss, appreciating the brush of bare skin where the place his shirt was open on Scout made contact with his own completely bare chest. True to his word, Scout deepened the kiss almost right away, making Sniper hum with satisfaction and intrigue at sensation on sore skin.

 

They parted after a few long moments, or maybe minutes, Sniper’s hands having migrated to the back of Scout’s neck and his back beneath the shirt, Scout’s resting on his hips just above his boxers.

 

“So,” Sniper said lightly, voice low. “Why don’t you want to go to breakfast?”

 

Scout’s expression dropped, eyes widening slightly, the face of someone who’s just been caught. “...Uh. Who says I don’t wanna go to breakfast?” he tried weakly.

 

“Me,” Sniper replied easily. “You’re trying awful hard to keep me here with you. So either you don’t want to go to breakfast, or you don’t want _me_  to go to breakfast. Which is it?”

 

Scout’s hands were in slight motion on his hips, fingers kneading tiny patterns. “I mean... maybe I’m just... maybe I just feel pent-up,” he tried next.

 

Sniper considered that for a moment. “After Friday night, then everything last night?” he asked. “Would’ve thought you’d be more tired than anything else.”

 

Scout’s face went a bit pink. “I mean, maybe,” he murmured.

 

Sniper was silent, waiting. Scout’s gaze fell to somewhere around his collarbone.

 

“I just, stuff seems like it’s all... weird now, and, I kinda wanna... I dunno, get my mind off it?” he said next, voice tilting up hopefully.

 

Sniper felt a frown start pulling at his face now, a different ache from the bruise. “...Like that other time. The... you said you needed to get away from your head.”

 

Scout’s face crumpled a little. Sniper tried to backpedal.

 

“I... thank you, for being honest,” he amended. “I’m just tryin’ to get a better handle on how you’re feelin’, what’s runnin’ through that head of yours.”

 

Scout buried his face in against Sniper’s neck. “You don’t gotta treat me like I’m... a fuckin’ kid, or, or like I’m fragile or somethin’, just because of all the stuff we talked about yesterday,” he said, maybe petulant, maybe just embarrassed.

 

“S’not why I’m doing this,” Sniper replied easily. “Just... made me start thinkin’ is all.”

 

“About what?”

 

Sniper exhaled. “About the fact that I s’pose I haven’t been doing a good enough job makin’ sure you know you matter to me,” he said, quiet.

 

Scout was still for a moment. “Huh?”

 

Sniper hooked him in that much closer, until they were hugging rather than stood close together facing each other. “I do care about you, an awful lot,” he practically mumbled. “And I’m not exactly one for showin’ that sort of thing in... like this, the way just now. Sayin’ it out loud like that. But maybe I should. Or, should _try_ , at least.”

 

Scout didn’t say anything to that.

 

“And I think I know the way that _you_  show it, instead of saying it,” Sniper said, tilting his head a bit, managing to plant a kiss at Scout’s hairline. He felt that little scar against his bottom lip. It felt smooth.

 

“Yeah?” Scout asked, a little weakly.

 

“Yeah. This, this right here.” He rubbed his hand in a little circle against Scout’s back. “You try and make me feel good, however you think you can.”

 

Scout buried his face against Sniper’s shoulder harder now.

 

“And I also know that when you’re hiding your face from me like that, it’s because you’re blushing—“

 

“Shuttup.”

 

“—and when you tell me to shut up it’s because you know I’m right about something and you’re embarrassed—“

 

“ _Shuttup_. Or, no, wait, I mean—“

 

“And you get stammery when you’re flustered,” Sniper continued, and started swaying them on their feet, a light side-to-side. “And it makes your knees weak when I hold you and start rocking at the same time.”

 

Scout indeed was clutching at his sides a bit tighter now, and his face felt hot against Sniper’s skin.

 

Sniper smiled, turned his head to murmur against Scout’s temple now. “And you like when I talk to you like this, all quiet and close,” he all but whispered. “And when I kiss you—“ A kiss there. “—right on the head, a little peck. And when I use your real name, Jeremy, the first real secret you ever told me. And all my little nicknames for you.”

 

Scout nodded his head ever-so-slightly in a feeble agreement.

 

“And piecing that all together, I know, sweet’eart, that you, the Scout, a hired mercenary for Mann Co. and professional killer,” he intoned, the smallest squeeze, “are a bloody _romantic_.”

 

Scout practically crumpled in his grasp, and Sniper carefully leaned back against the counter to have some assistance with holding up his weight. “Okay, okay, you got me,” Scout admitted, sounding almost tearful. “How long have you known?!”

 

“A while,” Sniper shrugged.

 

“I’m sorry,” Scout managed, an exhalation that he couldn’t possibly stop.

 

He frowned. “What? Why are you apologizing?”

 

Scout clung tighter. “Just, this is what drove that first girl away,” he nearly sighed. “Me... carin’ way too much about stuff like that and bein’ fuckin’, _clingy_  and shit.”

 

The frown deepened. “Really?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, guys aren’t supposed to, y’know, care about all that dumb shit, it’s supposed to be—“

 

“Oh, who cares about what things are _supposed_  to be,” Sniper cut in to chide, and kissed him on the head again. “The way things _should_  be and the way they’re _supposed to_  be are different. It’s my opinion that everyone _should_  get to say how they feel and why they think and what they like without getting made fun of. Should get to dress how they want and look a certain way and cut their hair and be allowed to do so. Tell me, what’s an Australian _supposed_  to look like?”

 

“I, I dunno, muscle and mustaches?” Scout mumbled.

 

“And here I am. Still Australian. Crocodile hunting and all. My being more scrawny than everyone else didn’t make me less of a man, and judging by my score on the board every day, didn’t make me any less dangerous. And, for the record, the fact that I spent just about all my time when I was sleeping with other men on the bottom half of the equation, that didn’t make me any less of a man or any less dangerous, neither.”

 

Scout didn’t seem to know what to say. Sniper pulled back enough to take Scout by the shoulders, resting their foreheads together to get him to make eye contact.

 

“You’re a person before you’re a _guy_. And you’re a person who cares about other people an awful lot, even though everyone in the world says you shouldn’t, or that you should pretend you don’t. Caring anyways, that’s awful brave of you.”

 

Scout had a lot of conflicting emotions crossing his face. After a few moments of trying to sort them out, of chewing his lip and trying to find the right words, he eventually settled for a little nod of understanding. A pause, more wrestling for words. “What about you?”

 

“What _about_  me?”

 

“How am I supposed to know when _you_... care?” There was a stumble before the word “care”, like a split-second substitution, but Sniper let it slide past.

 

“I pay attention. And, I _always_  sort of pay attention, it’s my nature, but in particular. I think hard, notice more. Piece things together. Get... well, observant.”

 

A little nod, averted eyes.

 

Sniper rubbed his thumbs over the curve of Scout’s shoulders. “New question.”

 

“You ask a lot of questions.”

 

Sniper smiled. “I do. But new question. Or, old question, maybe.”

 

“Go for it.”

 

“Were you coming on to me just a bit ago because you wanted to, er, _do something for me_ , because you... care,” he said, mimicking the little pause, and saw the way Scout’s eyes snapped up to meet his, “or because you really did just feel like doing something? For yourself?”

 

Scout chewed his lip. “A little bit of both,” he settled on after not much thought.

 

“Hmm.” Sniper looked his face over. “Well, how about this. You back up a few steps, let me show you _your_  way for once.”

 

Scout allowed Sniper to shift him a few steps back, jumping a little as his lower back made contact with the table. “Wh-what do you mean?” he asked, automatically moving to brace his hands on the tabletop to keep his balance.

 

“You know,” Sniper smirked, and sank to his knees, palms smoothing down Scout’s thighs. “Let me do something for you.”

 

Scout’s face went red, and he was a lot less suave suddenly than he was not that long ago, lounged in just about the same way. “Oh,” he said, breathless.

 

Sniper waited a moment, but it seemed Scout had frozen up. “...I’ll need a yes or no, love,” he prompted.

 

“Yeah. I, yeah. Go on,” Scout said, clearly trying not to sound desperate.

 

Sniper set to undoing his pants.

 

They knew each other well enough that they knew how to work with each other, Scout rolling his hips just as Sniper pulled down his briefs, and then Sniper was wrapping a hand around him, starting to move in teasing, barely-there strokes to get Scout properly hard. His mouth set to work kissing him on a ticklish point just to one side of his hip, and Scout carefully carded hands into his hair, and he noticed something.

 

Another kiss against his stomach, moving his head to another point under the pretense of kissing there to feel Scout’s hands adjusting in his hair. Then he pulled back, still stroking lightly, glancing up at Scout.

 

“...You’re shaking,” Sniper murmured cautiously.

 

Scout tensed, looking blearily down at Sniper. “Huh?”

 

“You’re shaking. I can feel it.”

 

Scout ticked his head back, breath hitching as Sniper’s grip tightened only slightly. “Observant?” Scout asked, unable to make eye contact, face flushed.

 

“Yeah.” The palm of his free hand smoothed down Scout’s flank, holding on for a moment as Sniper leaned in, kissed the divot of his hip.

 

“Look, I-I dunno, okay? It just kinda happens, I— _oh god_.”

 

He was cut off by Sniper lapping just under the head of his dick for a moment, a languid thing, unhurried. His hips jittered. “You were saying?” Sniper prompted, just a little bit smug, when he pulled back away again.

 

“I, what?” Scout panted, uncomprehending, brows furrowed when he looked back down.

 

Admittedly, that was a bit of an ego boost, and Sniper relented, just leaning back in and setting to work.

 

It was strange, sucking someone off with a bruise on his face and a slightly-burnt tongue. It lent a new layer to it all, something else that stole his attention, made him shift from his usual tactics and into something slightly different. Less a hard push in the general direction of the finish line, more a tease as he kept shifting his rhythm every few moments, trying to find something comfortable, something that fiddled with the interesting edge of pain rather than the off-putting one.

 

Even then, it took hardly any time at all before Scout was shaking, breath shuttering, curling forward and gripping hard at Sniper’s shoulders and spending himself into the other man’s mouth. Possibly something to do with Sniper’s level of practice, possibly Scout genuinely a bit pent up, possibly something else, possibly a mix of things. Sniper wasted no time leaning over to spit into the trash can hardly a foot away, and then promptly pulled Scout’s pants back into place, securing them neatly as Scout finished panting and falling back down to earth.

 

“Holy shit,” he said once he had control over his vocal chords. “How do you do that?”

 

“Practice, mostly. And I’ve been doing this long enough to know what you like,” Sniper said simply, patting Scout on the thigh before he stood, making a sound of discomfort as his knees protested having been stuck in such a position for a period of time. “Gonna get dressed now so we can go to breakfast?”

 

Scout took a breath, another one, the first to try and stop panting so hard and the second to steady himself. “Uh. Breakfast, yeah. Maybe...” He trailed off, thinking hard. “Shower first?”

 

“We’re going to miss the food if you shower first. Don’t reckon we have that much time.”

 

“We had time for you to blow me,” Scout pointed out.

 

“Well, I knew that’d be quick,” Sniper said.

 

Scout’s face went redder for a moment. “You tryin’ to say somethin’?” he asked, pouting. “Not my fault I didn’t have time to, y’know. Get a drink in me or somethin’, or get a condom or whatever, to give me a chance to last longer.”

 

“... _That’s_  why you drink?” Sniper asked, surprised. “And try an’ remember rubbers most of the time?”

 

“I mean, it’s _one_  reason,” he shrugged.

 

Sniper considered that, then decided to shake it off for the moment. “Well, regardless. We need to go eat. A shower can wait,” he said.

 

Scout just kept leaning on the table, gaze averted. “...Can I...” he tried to start, and bit off the end of the sentence.

 

Sniper frowned. “...Can you what?” he prompted after a moment.

 

“You’re gonna think I’m just messing around again,” Scout muttered, eyes locked somewhere else.

 

Sniper hesitated for a few seconds. “What is it?”

 

“I’ve just been...” Scout started, and drew a hand over his face, “I, fuck, I dunno, thinkin’ about stuff? And, I should say the stuff. And I know if I don’t say some of it now I’m gonna chicken out.”

 

“What kinds of... _stuff_ , then?” Sniper asked slowly.

 

“Not stuff about you, you didn’t do nothin’ wrong,” Scout was quick to amend, which did admittedly help a bit. “Just, stuff. That I should tell you. Or else I’m gonna feel like an asshole.”

 

“...Awright. Go on then,” Sniper prompted carefully.

 

Scout fidgeted. Inhaled as if to speak, paused, exhaled with no small amount of self-exasperation. “I’m just, I’m bad luck, man,” he said bluntly.

 

Sniper tilted his head. “What?”

 

“I’m bad luck. Just...” He dragged a hand through his own hair fretfully. “Just, every time I go anywhere, get with someone, every time I like someone at _all_ , just... bad stuff happens. To them, to me, in _general_ , just.” A sigh, Scout looking at him so very seriously. “I figured you deserved to know. If you stick around with me, things are just gonna suck for you. And I thought I should warn you.”

 

“I don’t think that’s true,” Sniper said after a moment, as carefully as he could. “I think it might be you getting into your own head, mate.”

 

“Man, you don’t know. You have no idea. Just trust me, I’m...” He shook his head to himself, looking off to one side, not breaking their gazes so much as thinking hard about something. Turning over his words. His eyes were stormy, his posture tense. “Look, it’s like with... with old neighborhood stories. When all the older folks tell you not to climb the telephone poles because all those years ago some kid named Little Jackie did and fell and busted his head open.”

 

Sniper frowned, not following in the slightest. Scout dragged a hand through his hair again, this time looking away much more intentionally.

 

“Some folks are just meant to live and then get hurt and die and be a warning for everyone else. Don’t be reckless like Little Jackie. Don’t push the line. Don’t fly too close to the sun. And... I’m the kinda guy who tries to push and fucks it all up for everyone else.” He gripped at the edge of the table behind him, slumping. “I’m a warning story. I’m the kinda guy who disappears and never gets heard from again, or who gets found dead in the harbor, or who skips town and ends up on the streets in a big city two states away not knowin’ my own name. I’m the guy who doesn’t make it home from the front lines. The poor unfortunate bastard that people shake their heads about over in the old folks’ home.” His head hung lower with every word until it was tilted down towards the floor, eyes locked on his own feet. “And I know that, and I’ve just... gotta try and be okay with it. But I don’t think you should have to deal with any fuckin’, any collateral or whatever, just because someone up there has it out for me.”

 

Sniper shook his head. “Mate, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t believe in luck,” he said, tone even.

 

Scout just shrugged listlessly. “Well, I warned you. I’m just...” He spent a long few moments trying to find his words, or maybe just to get the courage to say them. “I’m just meant to be miserable, and sooner or later that’s gonna get old. And, and you don’t gotta feel bad when it does and you can’t put up with me anymore. I’ll...” He swallowed hard. “I’ll get over it.”

 

“Jeremy,” Sniper said, feeling his expression harden. “Why are you so convinced I’m going to leave?”

 

“Because—“ he started to say, looking up at Sniper, and all at once realized he wasn’t sure, doubt suddenly crossing his face.

 

Sniper forced himself not to sigh, taking a second to breathe. Only when he was sure he could keep his voice level did he speak. “Do you think I’m a trustworthy individual?” he asked, as calmly as he could.

 

Scout chewed on his lip, glancing away. “I mean... yeah, I do,” he settled on.

 

“Then why do you think I’m lying when I say I’m not going to leave you by the wayside just because you have feelings and emotions just like everyone else?”

 

“I don’t think you’re lying, I think you just... don’t know,” Scout said, voice quiet. “And you’re gonna figure out that you were wrong.”

 

“All due respect, I think you’re the one that’ll know better soon,” Sniper said firmly. “I’m sorry, but you really won’t convince me otherwise.”

 

Scout was chewing his lip again.

 

“I’m going to drink my coffee,” Sniper said. “Then I’m going to get dressed, then we’re headed over and eating whatever breakfast is. Then I’m headed back here and doing chores. I imagine you’ve got chores as well.”

 

Scout nodded.

 

“Awright. That means I’ll see you at work all week, and then I’ll see you on Friday.” He arched an eyebrow. “Unless you want to see me between now and then besides work.”

 

Scout fidgeted, shifting his weight. “Kinda,” he admitted under his breath.

 

Sniper shrugged. “Fair enough. How’s Wednesday sound?”

 

Scout thought about it. “...Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, a bit more agreeable now.

 

“Aces.” Sniper turned to the counter, picked up his mug, took a sip. It’d cooled down during their little talk, and didn’t burn him this time.

 

“What if I just wear your shirt to breakfast? Would you be mad?” Scout asked offhandedly in the way that Sniper knew meant he was joking, words accompanied by the sound of fabric shuffling and the feeling of them pulling away from the previous conversation.

 

“I’d need to steal one of your shirts right back to retaliate, wouldn’t I?” Sniper replied, not turning around. “Unless you think the whole base talking is fair retaliation, which it might be.”

 

“Worth it. I’ve actually been stealing your shirts this whole time. That’s been my secret plot, I keep showin’ up in here just to get your shirts,” Scout continued, starting to shove his feet into his sneakers, too impatient to use the laces.

 

“Not secret if you’re blabbing about it to me, is it?”

 

Scout went still behind him. “Well, shit. Cover’s blown,” he said, sighing dramatically. “Mission failed. We’ll get ‘em next time.”

 

“Give me my shirt back, Scout,” Sniper drawled, and a few moments later the fabric collided with the back of his head at a high speed, sleeves whipping around and smacking into his face. “Thank you.”

 

“No problem.” Silence but for him sipping his coffee and more shuffling. “...Mundy.”

 

Sniper blinked. “Huh?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly in Scout’s direction.

 

“Huh? Nothin’. What?” Scout returned, voice light. Sniper huffed out through his nose, rolling his eyes to himself. “Oh, also, I uh, I hope you’re gonna be cool with the guys makin’ fun of you.”

 

Sniper hummed into his mug in question.

 

“The, uh, how I punched you in the face thing. And the bruise. You know how you’re gonna explain that yet?”

 

Sniper hummed into his mug in confirmation.

 

“What’s the plan?”

 

Sniper finally put down his mug to speak. “I’ll tell them I was being a prick and you punched me,” he said simply.

 

Scout considered that. “...What if they ask you why?”

 

“It’s because I was being a prick,” Sniper said, bending to pick up his shirt where it had fallen after hitting him.

 

“And what if they ask what happened?”

 

“You punched me in the face, because I was being a prick. Fairly straightforward,” Sniper said, hanging his shirt over his shoulder for the moment.

 

“...Fair play.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

At breakfast, the only teammates still present were Engie, Pyro, and Demo, with Heavy passing them to leave as they entered the kitchen. Demo immediately took note of and questioned the bruise on Sniper’s face, asking what happened. Sniper told him that Scout punched him for being a prick. Demo shrugged and returned to his breakfast.

 

It felt risky, sitting next to Scout and talking to him and joking around in front of their teammates like this. Riskier than phone calls, and routine visits, and stifled moans when they found themselves in Scout’s place instead of Sniper’s. Especially because once or twice Scout elbowed him over a joke, laughing as loudly as he always did, and he caught Demo glancing between them, giving Scout a meaningful look from across the table.

 

It didn’t take long for Sniper to piece together a thing or two, luckily for him. It was only a little bit after he’d figured it out that Demo spoke up.

 

“So,” the Scotsman said, looking at Scout. “You two sorted out, then?”

 

Scout froze up. Sniper kept his expression and his voice even. “What d’you mean?” he asked.

 

“I, nothing,” Scout said quickly, shooting Demo a look.

 

Sniper turned his head to Scout, just looking at him.

 

Demo shrugged across the table. “Well, I s’pose it’s nothing then, if the boy says so,” he confirmed, rolling his eye and looking over at Pyro. Their mask hid their expression well, but their shoulders shook lightly with what might’ve been laughter.

 

“Scout,” Sniper intoned, keeping his voice low. “What’s he talking about?”

 

Scout’s face was going red. “Nothing! Uh, probably just the, the bruise thing! And that’s totally fine and we talked it out so there’s no more fighting and stuff is _fine_.” The last word was said with odd emphasis and a hard look aimed at Demo, who pretended not to notice.

 

Sniper just looked at him, letting his expression speak for itself on just how little he believed that.

 

Scout fidgeted some more. “Seriously, it’s nothing!” he insisted.

 

“What’d you tell ‘im?” Sniper asked plainly.

 

Scout glanced at Demo, then at Pyro, then at his plate. His face was only getting redder. “Okay, I was... it’s not my fault, okay?” he blurted.

 

Sniper raised an eyebrow.

 

“You...” Scout ducked his head low, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck absentmindedly. “I was hangin’ out with Demo and Pyro and I spilled beer on my shirt and took it off so I wouldn’t be all gross and sticky and they just saw the, the marks I still had, and they asked about ‘em.”

 

“And _then?”_ Sniper asked.

 

“And then I just started blabbing about stuff, okay? What was I gonna do, lie? They were fresh, and Demo’s the one who tags along with me to town half the time so he _knows_  I’m not hitting bars, and I just...” His head was practically down on the table. “I’m sorry, okay?”

 

Sniper sighed, glancing over his shoulder towards the kitchen where Engie was cleaning up and packing away what few leftovers remained. “Mate, it’s really not my problem if the rest of the blokes know, I barely ever come by the base, awright? Tell who you want. Just be careful, I’m not so sure our boss would be nearly as pleased to find out about things,” he said quietly.

 

Scout’s head jerked up, eyes boring into him, expression one of disbelief. “Really?” he asked.

 

Sniper shrugged. “I don’t mind it. You’ll be the one getting ribbed over it, not me. Your choice.”

 

Scout chewed his lip, glancing back down at his plate.

 

Then Sniper paused, looking back at Demo and Pyro, neither of which were even pretending they weren’t listening. “What’d he tell you, anyways?” he asked.

 

Demo put his hands up. “Not my business to tell you,” he said, grinning at Scout. “He’ll have to talk to you about it himself. Which he _should_.”

 

“I said a little already, okay? Get off my back, man,” Scout mumbled, facedown on the table again, head pillowed on his arms. He glanced up only briefly to add one last thing to Sniper specifically. “I’ll tell you later.”

 

Sniper, after much consideration, decided to let him leave it at that.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So here’s the plan,” Sniper murmured the next Friday, hands stilling.

 

Scout stopped unbuttoning Sniper’s shirt, hands having only made it to two below the collar, to raise an eyebrow. “There’s a plan?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Since when is—you—why—“ Scout stammered, utterly befuddled. Eventually he found his words. “What do you mean _plan?_ _”_

 

“Plan. For tonight,” Sniper said, managing to keep a grin off his face.

 

“Okay, but what do you mean plan?” Scout asked again.

 

“I made a plan, for tonight. A whole plan. Not on paper, just in my head. I planned it.”

 

“What _plan?”_

 

“A plan is when you decide what events are going to happen before you go into an activity—“ Sniper started to explain, voice level.

 

“I know what the fuck a plan is,” Scout said, exasperated now.

 

“Well, just thought I’d explain. Since you seemed confused,” Sniper said, tone serious. “Wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”

 

There was a pause before Scout next spoke. “You’re fucking with me,” Scout decided, voice suspicious.

 

“I’m fucking with you,” Sniper confirmed, finally allowing himself to grin.

 

Scout slugged him on the shoulder, motion deceptively full-bodied for the fact that he clearly didn’t put any actual force behind it. “You’re such a cocksucker sometimes, man.”

 

“That is indeed a pastime of mine,” Sniper said easily, and had to wink before Scout got the joke and promptly hit him in the face with a pillow. He laughed even as Scout grumbled.

 

“Alright, don’t patronize me, crocodile man,” Scout said, very nearly succeeding at keeping amusement from his face. “What are you talking about with the plan thing? Or was that still just you fucking with me?”

 

“Nah, there really is a plan,” Sniper said, relenting. “I figured instead of our usual formula of winging it until we’re both tuckered out and fall asleep on each other half-naked—“

 

“Which is a great formula,” Scout interrupted to say.

 

“It is. But I figured instead, this one time, I’d go into this with a plan,” Sniper said. “And also that I’d tell it to you so you could greenlight it for me before I got into it.”

 

“Lay it on me,” Scout shrugged, shifting to lie back, tucking his arms behind his head.

 

Sniper moved from his place between Scout’s legs to instead lie beside him, propped up on one elbow. “Right. First of all, we have a little talk,” Sniper said, ticking off on his fingers.

 

Scout’s eyebrows furrowed. “Aw, man. Fuckin’ hate when we have a little talk,” he complained.

 

“No, you’ll like this talk. Because in this particular talk, _you_  are going to tell _me—“_ he prodded first Scout then himself in the chest for emphasis, “—your ideal fantasy, and then we’re going to do it.”

 

Silence for a second. “What?”

 

“Y’know, your favorite fantasy. What you jerk off to. The thing that makes you the most hot and bothered,” Sniper shrugged, moving to tug on Scout’s shirt idly, getting it to sit right on him. “Only limitation is that I’m going to have to go ahead and tell you, if it involved multiple other people, I can’t do that. I didn’t prep for a threesome or the like. It’s just me in here.”

 

“I’d fuckin’ hope it is,” Scout mumbled, watching Sniper’s hand as it worked. “Gonna have to check the perimiter to make sure now.”

 

Sniper huffed a laugh. “Anyways. Beyond that, I have more of a plan.”

 

“Oh shit,” Scout said, feigning surprise. “More than two steps?”

 

“I know, I know. Might get too complicated for you, but I’ll take it slow,” Sniper teased, and Scout rolled his eyes. “Anyways. That’s step one—a conversation.” He ticked off one finger.

 

“Isn’t step one telling me the plan?”

 

Sniper considered that. “Alright. Step one, tell you the plan. Step _two_  is the conversation.” He ticked off two fingers. “Then step three, I suck you off.”

 

Scout frowned. “I thought you said you’re gonna do—“

 

“I did, but here’s the thing—you mentioned that sometimes you’d rather be a bit tipsy because it helps you last a bit longer, aye?”

 

Scout’s face reddened. “I mean, yeah?”

 

“Well, here’s the thing I’ve noticed. You bounce back _awful_  fast for round two, and then you last a nice, long time. And whatever the fantasy is that you tell me, I’d imagine it’ll involve being a bit longer than ten minutes.”

 

The red was starting to spread to his ears, and Scout looked away. “C’mon, man. Gimme some credit here.”

 

“Never said it was a bad thing,” Sniper soothed, hand smoothing up his chest. “Hell, you being able to go two and three rounds is awful nice sometimes. I’m lucky if I get a second wind within fifteen minutes, and you hardly take five.”

 

“I swear to god, if you make a joke right now about me being fast—“ Scout started to threaten, some genuine insecurity clear on his face in that moment.

 

“Not what I was saying,” Sniper clarified, tone gentle. “I’m saying it’s a different good than lasting ages the first time is. Second or third round, you last well into a good time. And I’m not a fair benchmark to judge yourself on, even back in ‘Straya when I was starting out I lasted particularly well.”

 

That did seem to make Scout feel a little bit better, some tension leaving his shoulders, eyes falling back to watch Sniper fiddling with his dog tags, adjusting the chain so that the clip was at the back of his neck.

 

“Regardless. So I’ll get you off once, that way you’ll last a good while the second and maybe third round,” Sniper said. “And step four is whatever it is that you ask for.”

 

Scout was quiet for a second. “That’s a lot of power you’re handin’ me here, babe,” he said.

 

Sniper almost smiled at the word ‘babe’. “I think you can handle it.”

 

“What about—“ Scout started to say, then stopped, chewed his lip for a second. “What about you, though?”

 

“What _about_  me?” Sniper returned.

 

“I mean, you’re here, gonna tell me I’m—that I get my, y’know, get to do whatever I want. But what about you? I’m gonna have to do the same for you at some point now, y’know. Otherwise I’ll feel like a big asshole.”

 

Sniper’s lip quirked. “...Well, remember that time you, er, dressed up all nice?” he asked.

 

“The, when we went to the bar and I got sloshed?” Scout asked, frowning.

 

“No, before that. Stockings, panties, the whole getup.”

 

“Oh. Yeah, what about it?”

 

“Well, _maybe_ , just maybe,” Sniper said slowly, and had to glance away. “Maybe that would be the sort of thing I’d ask for. Possibly.”

 

Scout slowly grinned, wide and toothy. “Shit, really?” he asked.

 

“Maybe.”

 

“I’m gonna fuck you up with that now, y’know,” Scout said, a little excited now. “Fuck, I’m gonna start turning up in here with that on and I’m not gonna tell you. I’m gonna wear that all the fuckin’ time. I’m gonna—holy shit, I’m gonna get you so good.”

 

Sniper’s face felt hot. “And this is why I didn’t tell you,” he said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Shit, what part of it is hot, though? Is it the clothes or the strip tease?”

 

“Strip tease was lovely, but it’s more the clothes,” Sniper admitted. “And the toy was rather hot as well. Getting someone off with hardly any effort on my part, the begging, the ruinin’ a cute little outfit like that, it’s just,” Sniper whistled lowly, attention drifting a bit. “It’s awful nice.” A pause, then his attention snapped back. “But, on to step one now. What about you? What’s your big secret desire?”

 

“Step two,” Scout said.

 

Sniper raised an eyebrow. “Beg pardon?”

 

“Step two, not one. Step one is say the plan. Step two is talk about what I wanna do,” Scout said.

 

A pause to think before Sniper next spoke. “You’re stalling,” he decided.

 

“I’m not _stalling_ ,” Scout protested with a huff, not making eye contact.

 

“You’re stalling,” Sniper repeated, the concept confirmed. “What’s got you nervous this time?”

 

“It’s stupid,” Scout mumbled to the ceiling.

 

Sniper took his free hand and cupped Scout’s cheek, tilting his face closer and leaning forward to kiss him on the corner of the mouth. Scout blinked at him, posture relaxing, lips parting in near-surprise. Sniper couldn’t help but lean in a second time, kissing again, and this time Scout returned it, however briefly before Sniper pulled back again.

 

“Tell me?” Sniper asked. Didn’t order, didn’t demand, didn’t even sigh, just asked.

 

Scout considered it. And from how long he paused, how far his eyebrows furrowed, he considered it _hard_.

 

“Can I...” Scout started, and broke off, and sighed at himself. “It’s gonna sound dumb, but hear me out. Can I start with... with the things that aren’t okay?”

 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Sniper said easily.

 

Scout paused, then rolled onto his side, cuddled his way into the crook of Sniper’s neck, wrapping arms around him loosely. Sniper was only a little surprised, and in turn moved to hold Scout close.

 

There was a pause then, long and drawn out, Scout breathing steadily and slowly. Outside, crickets had started to chirp in the distance, the sound carrying easily across the flatness of the desert. The silence extended for long enough that Sniper started wondering if maybe Scout was going to try and avoid the question further by going to sleep rather than answering.

 

When he spoke, he was clearly trying very hard to keep his voice level. “I don’t like bein’ pinned down, I don’t like havin’ my arms trapped, I don’t like being bit too hard, I don’t like waking up to someone messin’ with me, I don’t like bein’...” A hitch in his breath. “...bein’ told to shut up, or keep it down, or when there’s hands on—on my face over my mouth, or nothin’ like that. I don’t like the, when fingernails are diggin’ in too hard, or being,” and his breath hitched again, “being hit in general, just, pain stuff in general.”

 

Sniper let that sink in for a moment. “...Right. Straightforward enough,” he said, shrugging. “Anything else?”

 

Scout breathed for a few moments, thought for a few moments. “...Sometimes, when I’m, I’m beneath y— _someone_ , it’s. It can get kinda... it’s not as good. Not like, _bad_ , but, less good. And other times it’s really, really nice. I dunno what makes the difference. I, I think it might be a positioning thing? Like, the other person sitting up versus being, y’know, kinda propped forward? It’s weird, but, but it’s not constant neither.”

 

“Awright.” He took a moment to consider that, and file it away. “Yeah, awright. Well, what are the things you’d want, then?”

 

Scout spent a little bit just breathing again. “It’s _really_  fuckin’ stupid,” he said after a few moments. “I, seriously, you’re gonna think it’s dumb, and you’re gonna be right. Because it’s dumb and, and it’s sappy.”

 

“Then I’ll be sappy,” Sniper shrugged, squeezing him for a moment. “Go on. I admitted to liking long socks and frills, mate, we’re already tellin’ secrets.”

 

Scout thought about it for a few more seconds. “...I’d want...” he started, very slowly, audibly choosing his words very carefully. “...In my head it’s that... it’s you kissin’ me all over my face and shoulders and chest and then my face again, all careful, and... and you open me up all careful too, and... and you’re, it’s you fuckin’ me all nice an’ s-slow, a-and I’m... and it just goes on way too fuckin’ long until I can’t stand it, like neither of us have anywhere to be any time soon, and, just... _shit_.” His voice cracked on the last word under the strain of embarrassment.

 

“S’alright, love,” Sniper murmured, kissing him on the top of his head gently. “You’re doin’ great.”

 

“An’ you call me that,” Scout said suddenly, and when did his voice get so thin and reedy? “You... you keep callin’ me that, and sayin’ all sorts of, of sweet stuff, an’ it, it takes like _forever_  an’ by the time we’re done we’re both exhausted, an’ you just—you’re just holding me, just... that’s what I want, okay? That’s all.”

 

If he was being honest with himself, Sniper hadn’t really expected it to be something wild and kinky. Scout hadn’t seemed all too into the handcuffs thing, and had already said he didn’t like pain, and clearly didn’t like hurting Sniper either.

 

But still, it was... it made something tickle at the back of Sniper’s mind, an idea that had been growing, fermenting, but wasn’t quite big enough to understand.

 

“Romantic,” he murmured instead of any of that, and kissed the top of Scout’s head again.

 

Scout burrowed against him.

 

“We can do that,” Sniper agreed without fanfare. “Right, up you get.”

 

Scout moved back with a light push on the shoulder, and Sniper got up to move over him. “Huh?” he asked, watching Sniper with furrowed eyebrows.

 

“Well, I noticed your idea didn’t include a part where we clean up, so I’m getting towels and the like so my sheets aren’t ruined. _Again_ ,” he said, moving to one of the cabinets. “And if this takes quite some time, I imagine it’ll be in your best interest to, y’know. Drink some water or anythin’ else while I’m doin’ this.”

 

“Y’know, you’re—you’re in a good goddamn mood today,” Scout said suspiciously as Sniper moved to a drawer and started taking towels out of it.

 

“Had a good day at work,” Sniper shrugged.

 

Scout snorted, rolling over and watching Sniper idly. “God. This sounds like some kinda, some cliché domestic bullshit conversation,” he said. “Like, dude knocks on the door, walks in, fuckin’, hangs up his hat and jacket and puts down his briefcase, some lady’s in the kitchen in an apron with a big spoon makin’ soup or somethin’. Starts talkin’ about the kids, how little Jimmy is doing at his, fuckin’... I dunno, soccer practice or something. Dude talks about his day at work. Y’know, that like, sitcom bullshit?”

 

“Does that make you the sheila in the apron in this scenario, if I’m the bloke with the briefcase?” Sniper asked, moving to fill back up his canteen.

 

“I’m usually the one gettin’ briefcases between the two of us though, huh?” Scout joked.

 

“Guess we’ll be two blokes with briefcases then, and we’ll have takeout instead of soup, and the kids’ll have to be home alone all day fending for themselves,” Sniper said, taking the towels over to the bed. “Budge up, I need to lay these out.”

 

Scout sighed dramatically, but did get to his feet, moving so Sniper could start pulling at the sheets. “I’m gonna brush my teeth and stuff,” he announced, heading to the bathroom, ducking back out briefly to fish in his bag for his toothbrush. “I’ll be like, a few minutes.”

 

“Awright,” Sniper said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ten minutes later, once Sniper had also taken his turn in the bathroom, he went back out and found that Scout had sat himself cross-legged in the middle of the bed and started fidgeting.

 

He’d taken off his shoes and socks already, and his belt, and his grip tape, hat, and headgear had all been abandoned when he’d walked in the door in the first place, but everything else remained on him, even as Scout fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. His sleeves were unrolled, making the fabric all at once seem far too big for him, but otherwise, he’d kept his clothes on.

 

Sniper took the time to kick his own socks off, and leaned to put his shades on the table, and remembered just in time to take off his watch and glove. He glanced over the face of his watch, then at the clock on the table, before he leaned to put it aside. When he turned back, Scout’s gaze flicked away, the younger man clearly trying to pretend he hadn’t been staring.

 

Sniper reached a hand out and put it on Scout’s knee, and saw a muscle in his calf leap. A slow circle over his kneecap with his thumb made his whole thigh visibly jitter, even with his baggy pants.

 

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Sniper said, keeping his voice quiet. “It’s just me.”

 

Scout’s head dipped a little bit lower, maybe as he relaxed, maybe with embarrassment. “I’m not scared of you,” he mumbled. “I just... this is really stupid, and, I don’t want you to have to slog through whatever just to—“

 

He cut himself off as Sniper drew another slow circle with his thumb. His adam’s apple bobbed.

 

“I dunno. I just don’t want you to have to... pretend to... to like this, just because I do,” he finally stammered, gaze on Sniper’s hand.

 

“What if I promise I won’t pretend anything?” Sniper asked, keeping his voice quiet and light. “That I’ll... take it slow, but not fake any part of it? Just act how I please? Because... the way you explained it, the thing you asked for, I reckon I can do that, and like that, without pretending.”

 

All at once, Scout’s expression became hard to read. “You’re sure?” he asked, hardly even a mumble, finally looking up to meet Sniper’s eyes.

 

“I’m sure,” Sniper said, steady.

 

Scout inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly, looked back down at Sniper’s hand as he started drawing circles again. “I’m gonna fuckin’... embarrass myself, I just know it,” Scout said next.

 

Sniper felt a smile tug at his lips, bemused. “You think _this_  is more embarrassing than thigh-highs and panties?” he asked, disbelief peeking through his tone.

 

“Yeah,” Scout said, barely needing to think about it first.

 

Sniper squeezed his knee once. “Well, I’d say there’s nothing embarrassing going on here, truthfully,” he shrugged. “Just taking things easy is all.”

 

Scout relaxed a little. “If you say so,” he sighed.

 

Sniper quit his fiddling, glancing Scout’s face over briefly. He ticked his head forward to catch Scout’s eye. “C’mere?” he offered, tilting his shoulders to open himself up a bit.

 

Scout accepted the offer, uncrossing his legs and shifting over a foot or so to press their lips together.

 

Sniper, at least for a while, kept the kisses relatively chaste, kept his hands to himself, one on his own thigh and the other on the mattress between them to keep his balance. Between each little press of lips, Sniper was made aware again that Scout’s breath smelled and tasted like mint, still strong with toothpaste, and when he finally, for just a moment, bothered deepening the kiss, he could just barely taste the lingering flavor of bubblegum there behind it.

 

But he reined himself in, pulled back, returned to slow, steady.

 

Scout shifted his weight forward a bit, and there was the lightest brush, a hesitation, before Scout laid his hand on top of Sniper’s, a firm pressure. Sniper pulled back just enough to look over Scout’s expression, then to glance down and carefully thread their fingers together. Scout grinned sheepishly, and Sniper grinned back, and they kissed again.

 

Scout pushed for more, tongue ghosting over his bottom lip, and Sniper allowed him to push them further, into something headier, something that made the breaths of air between kisses slightly more heavy, the time between shorter. Minutes of this, of kissing, of tasting, of breathing, of kissing again, had Sniper feeling loose, his eyelids hanging lower.

 

He reached a hand up to rest on Scout’s cheek as they pulled back for a moment, stretching the seconds apart to get himself just a bit more air. He blinked his eyes open, and saw Scout staring right back at him, something terribly breathless and vulnerable there, and he couldn’t help but kiss him again, and once more, and yet once more.

 

Scout’s free hand found its way to the back of Sniper’s neck, and he pulled Sniper in just that much harder, and then a bit harder, and it wasn’t until Scout had leaned back a considerable ways that Sniper realized what he was doing. There was a bit of shuffling as they situated their legs, but soon enough they were back again, Sniper sat between Scout’s thighs and leaning in to kiss the man silly, an elbow by his head for balance and a hand stroking down his flank appreciatively, both of Scout’s arms up around his back.

 

He continued his slow groping up and down Scout’s torso through his shirt, drinking in Scout’s soft gasps and hums as he went, enjoying the way fingers kneaded at his back almost unconsciously, and finally dipped his hand to rest at the clasp of Scout’s pants.

 

He pulled back, and was a bit surprised by how much he was panting. “May I?” he asked, voice a purr despite breathlessness.

 

Scout nodded almost frantically. “Please,” he said for further emphasis.

 

Sniper smiled, and kissed him again, half of his focus elsewhere as he went about one-handedly, blindly undoing Scout’s pants. He’d had a good bit of practice, sure, but it was still a bit of a challenge for him. It took a few moments longer than they usually would’ve allowed in their haste to undress, but given their new pacing, it felt much less irritating, more amusing to feel a sigh of relief breathed out over his face when he finally managed to get them undone and open.

 

He slipped a careful palm into the newly-opened trousers over modest briefs, gripping loosely at the hard bulge he found there. “Someone’s already excited for this,” he teased, mouth a hair’s breadth away from Scout’s, lips brushing in a way that made them almost tingle. Scout just groaned, hips bucking up, and Sniper grinned, gripping more firmly and dipping back in with no small amount of enthusiasm to drink in Scout’s little moan.

 

He took care to adjust Scout’s dick to sit at a more comfortable angle in his briefs, and ghosted fingers down a bit deeper to knead lightly over where Scout’s balls hung, making Scout whine and his thighs jitter. Then he was back to palming over the length of him, thumb pressing into a rapidly-growing wet spot where his precum had started to leak at the same moment that he nipped at Scout’s bottom lip.

 

Bony hips jolted, and Sniper took that as a cue to knead just that much more firmly, then all at once Scout was pulling his lips away, breath kicking up in urgency. He looked over Scout’s face, trying to figure out the situation, when suddenly he cried out weakly, bucking, arms tightening, Sniper’s palm suddenly met with a significantly larger amount of wetness than before as Scout shuddered and tensed and relaxed bodily.

 

The moment of stillness didn’t last long, both of them realizing at just about the same time. One of Scout’s arms moved from around Sniper’s back, forearm coming up to rest over his eyes, expression scrunching up. “Fuck, I’m, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“ he started to stammer, positively mortified, before Sniper cut him off with a firm kiss on the lips.

 

“Scout, look at me,” he requested almost urgently. Scout pulled his arm back, managing eye contact, just barely. “You look _damn_  good like this, you know.”

 

Scout’s face went bright red, and he didn’t even stammer, just staring, mouth slightly open as he tried to find words.

 

Sniper leaned in to kiss just under Scout’s jawline, the hand from Scout’s pants migrating to rest next to his hip on the towel. “Really, love. Bloody artwork, it is,” he insisted. “All disheveled and... downright deubached. Gorgeous, you’ve no idea.” Scout managed to scoff, trying to look away, but Sniper cupped his cheek with his clean hand, tilting his face back. “No, _really_. I’m serious. Right, this was the idea anyways, aye? Nothing to be embarrassed about. If anything it’s just rather flattering.” A peck on the cheek. “Also lets me know just how much you’re into this, if I got you that riled up that quick.”

 

Scout didn’t seem to know what to say to that, just keeping his eyes locked somewhere around Sniper’s clavicle.

 

Sniper kissed him on the cheek again. “How about we get you out of those clothes, then? Can’t be terribly comfortable,” he suggested. His hands landed at the waistband of Scout’s pants, thumbs on either side of the clasp. “May I?”

 

“Sure,” Scout breathed as he nodded and reached to undo them himself, but Sniper gently nudged his hands back away.

 

“Let me, love,” he murmured, giving Scout a little smile. “Your night, remember?”

 

Scout seemed hesitant about that second part, but didn’t protest as Sniper set about pulling him free from his outfit.

 

Admittedly, this wasn’t something Sniper was used to, calmly pulling his partner free of clothes, no rush to it, no urgency. His movements were steady, each tug of fabric gentle as he freed Scout from his pants, then carefully from his possibly-ruined standard-issue briefs, and pushed his shirt up just far enough out of the way to give Scout a little bit of a wiping-down, mindful of lingering sensitivity. Scout took the moment to pull his shirt the rest of the way off, having to look away as Sniper worked, face red with a vague shame and embarrassment. Sniper then paused, took a long few moments to kiss a trail from just above one bent knee to the apex of Scout’s thigh, first his right, then his left. Both times he stopped just at the place where fine, pale hair really became darker and more coarse, taking note of the distinct tremble of the muscles cradling his head that signaled where the sensation began to encroach upon the territory of “too much”.

 

He felt a gentle tug on the back of his shirt, and took it as a cue to return to Scout, propping himself back up over his chest. But before he could return to kissing, Scout’s hand smoothed over the center of his chest.

 

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” he mumbled, picking at one of Sniper’s buttons.

 

Sniper smiled. “That so?”

 

“Yeah.” Scout tugged on the collar of his shirt, managing to look Sniper in the eye. “C’mon. Please?”

 

“As you wish,” Sniper teased, and kissed Scout just to the side of his ear, and stood up to start pulling himself free of his clothes.

 

Oftentimes, when Sniper left work frustrated after a loss, or even just a particularly bad personal performance, he just undid the top two buttons and yanked his shirt off over his head and tossed his belt and watch and glove and hat and glasses aside with abandon and flopped down into bed to sleep his anger off. Other times, he left work with enough energy to get properly into his equivalent to pajamas, calmly and efficiently undoing the buttons and then pulling off his undershirt, making sure to put everything in the hamper, as responsible in his off-time as he was in his work.

 

This was more like the times when he came back from work tired but satisfied. No rush, head ticked lightly back, fingers unhesitating but taking long enough to go without fumbling as he undid each button, top to bottom. He shrugged off his shirt, pulled off his undershirt in a motion not unlike that of stretching.

 

Scout watched him with an odd expression, something clearly approving yet with something else underlying, making Sniper hesitate for a moment with his hands on the button and zipper of his trousers.

 

“Still good?” he asked gently, and Scout only had to think for a second before he nodded.

 

He pushed himself free of his last remaining pieces of clothing, and returned to sit between Scout’s legs, as shameless in nudity as he’d almost always been. His hands found the outside of Scout’s thighs, and his expression fell a little at the light trembling he found there.

 

“It’s just kinda cold,” Scout said before he could ask, and Sniper stroked down the outside of his legs and did indeed find that Scout’s skin was a little chilly, possibly from the desert’s nightly cold starting to sneak its way into the camper.

 

Sniper brightened a little, half-turning and reaching behind him to the foot of the bed, pulling the quilt that had been folded there up and over both of their bodies. “Better?” he asked lightly.

 

Scout nodded, one hand moving to tug on the edge of the blanket to secure it better across Sniper’s shoulders.

 

Sniper took that hand before it dropped again, and turned it over, and laid a lingering little kiss there in the palm, smooth and uncalloused in comparison to Scout’s fingertips where his grip tape left him exposed. Scout’s hand twitched,and when Sniper’s lips retreated again, closed over the place he’d been kissed as if trying to trap the sensation there beneath his fingers.

 

Sniper smiled, and moved Scout’s arm enough to kiss lightly on the inside of his wrist, a centimeter below the place where his hand joined his arm, and then a centimeter below that, and then another below that. Short but lingering, the brushes light and dry but so very intentional.

 

It wasn’t long, or was perhaps far too long, before Sniper found himself kissing at the crook of Scout’s elbow, earning a light gasp and a shiver from the man below him. He opened his eyes to meet Scout’s, which he found were wide and full of that odd implacable look, and promptly repeated the motion, allowing himself a little grin at the way Scout reacted just the same way the second time.

 

“Question,” he rumbled.

 

Scout swallowed hard. “Uh, yeah?” he asked, voice a valiant attempt at steady.

 

“Do you want to wait just a bit longer before we start in, or do you think you’re ready?”

 

Scout shifted, the lightest flex of muscle around Sniper’s hips, the slightest roll of shoulders as Scout took stock of himself. “Maybe a little longer,” he mumbled.

 

“Okay,” Sniper said lightly, and moved to start trailing kisses up Scout’s other arm.

 

When he reached the pit of Scout’s other elbow, he changed direction. He shuffled a bit downward, cupped Scout’s lower back, and started kissing across Scout’s ribcage; first a kiss to the lowest rib, then to the space between that and the one above, and so on. When the ribs became hard to tell apart as muscle started taking form, he pressed a particularly brief kiss to Scout’s lower sternum then moved to kiss his way down the other side.

 

He threaded their hands together, looking up at Scout, and took note of his slow, calm, even breathing, the way his hands were very much not shaking.

 

He ducked under the blanket briefly and kissed around Scout’s navel, just above, then to the left, then below, then to the right, laughing across sparsely-haired skin at the way Scout’s stomach muscles jumped and he tried to squirm away, protesting even as he laughed at the ticklish feeling of it.

 

Then he shifted upwards, breathing out smoothly at the vague exertion of pulling himself up, and situated over Scout’s chest again. “Tell me if this is too much,” he mumbled, and Scout nodded, and Sniper bent his head down to suck on one nipple.

 

A jolt, something between a groan and a whimper, a shiver as Sniper sucked once, and again when it seemed that Scout was enjoying things, starting up a slow but steady rhythm. He shifted his weight to one side to free up his arm, and toyed with the other one idly. He flicked his gaze up towards Scout’s face, observing carefully as he grazed teeth just above where flesh became sensitive, licking experimentally in apology, or at least for contrast.

 

He pinched lightly at the same moment that he sucked once, hard, and Scout was suddenly scrabbling at his shoulders weakly. “Too m—too—“ he tried to gasp, and Sniper let up, rubbing a soothing circle with his thumb (earning a very lovely moan for his trouble) and giving a parting lick before he moved to sit up a bit, relenting entirely.

 

Scout just breathed for a second, then groaned again, arms up over his face. “God, I’m not any fuckin’ fun tonight, am I?” he mumbled, a bit agitated.

 

Sniper huffed a laugh, hands stroking down Scout’s sides. “Mate, I’m having plenty of fun with this,” he said easily. “You tellin’ me when I’m doin’ things wrong just helps me do things right, helps me get a better reaction out of you, doesn’t it?”

 

Scout mumbled something very clearly noncommittal into his elbow. Sniper sighed, keeping it quiet so as not to further agitate the flustered man beneath him.

 

“Really, love,” he said, voice soft as his hands kneaded at Scout’s shoulders ever-so-lightly. “It’s awright. I’m trying to help you relax a bit here, so you can settle back and just enjoy things. That’s all. If you’d like me to skip that, it’s awright to say so.”

 

Scout clearly considered that for a few moments, silent and still.

 

“I can stop altogether if you want,” Sniper finally offered reluctantly after the silence took just a bit too long. “But I really just wanted to do something nice for you. I swear. Bushman’s honor.”

 

Scout pulled his arms from his face with what was clearly great difficulty, looking down at Sniper with an expression he couldn’t really read. After a few moments of pause, of just _looking_ , he hesitantly raised his legs up to wrap around Sniper’s middle, arms falling around his shoulders. “I think I’m good,” he mumbled after a second.

 

Sniper tilted his head just slightly. “For what?”

 

Scout blinked, and started going red. “Dude, for... for, y’know!”

 

Sniper smiled at him. “Love, I meant for what thing, going forward with the original idea, or something else?”

 

“Original thing,” Scout clarified. “Just... hurry up.”

 

Sniper huffed another laugh. “That’s not the idea, though, is it? Aren’t I supposed to take my time with you?”

 

Scout went even redder.

 

Sniper paused for a moment, then leaned up, reached past Scout’s head and tugged on the pillow until Scout took the hint and released it from beneath him. He put the pillow on Scout’s chest.

 

“If it’d make you feel better, you can hug this while I set to work, hide your face and all. But I’d really like to see you once we get into the main event properly,” he murmured, voice quiet.

 

“No promises,” Scout half-joked, wrapping his arms over the pillow and shifting it up his chest a bit.

 

Sniper just smiled and rolled his eyes, and moved his hands to lie atop Scout’s thighs. He kneaded over the muscle there for a few moments (and lord, was there muscle there—it somehow still failed to sink in how muscled Scout was from the waist down), then slid his hands beneath them, lifting them to lie spread up and open. The blanket fell back behind Sniper with the shift, but Scout had clearly warmed up a bit since he’d first pulled it up over them, sweat shiny on the back of his thighs.

 

Scout’s breathing was even, at least, long and easy into the cushion he was holding tight to himself, and he moved with Sniper, positioning comfortably as he was shifted.

 

Sniper felt a spark of humor in his chest, and pushed further, shifted his grip to Scout’s calves, pushing his legs straight. He started leaning forward, pushing over, over.

 

“How are you so bloody flexible?” Sniper asked, genuinely surprised at how easily Scout could shift to accommodate how he was being pushed, practically bent in half with his legs locked straight.

 

“I stretch before my run every morning,” Scout mumbled, muffled into the pillow. “Been doin’ it since I ran track in middle school. Helps with the climbing an’ shit.”

 

“Impressive,” Sniper said honestly.

 

Scout hugged the pillow tighter. “Can you get on with it already?” he asked, clearly trying to huff and sound annoyed, but mostly coming across as a whine.

 

Sniper held back a laugh. “Sure thing, love,” he said, and leaned forward to press a kiss at the back of Scout’s knee, quite liking the way that it made him jump.

 

He kept his eyes on Scout’s body language as he popped off the cap of the lube, squirting some into his hand to let it warm up. He kneaded at Scout’s thigh again idly with his free hand. Scout relaxed slowly but surely under the sensation.

 

“Oh,” Sniper suddenly said, remembering something. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

 

Scout hummed.

 

“There’s...” Sniper thought for a few moments about how to word it. “I know some people in, er, in some relationships, they have... they sort of, set a specific word or something like that, and if either of them says it, they... stop everything they’re doing. It sort of, er, helps sort out the difference between... saying to slow down or wait and saying to stop entirely. Would... you want to do that? Have one of those?”

 

Scout was quiet for a few moments, thinking. “Oh, like, uh—fuck, what’s it called? Like, like a safe word?” he finally asked, almost suddenly.

 

“Yeah. A safe word.”

 

Scout squeezed the pillow for a moment. “Why—why would we need a safe word?” he almost stammered.

 

“Well, I imagine it’s a bit clearer. There’ve been a few times when I couldn’t tell if you were on board or not, I... would prefer to be sure that you don’t want me to stop. And when we set into, er... properly into things, I’m a little less likely to lean on the side of caution and all. And... well, what you asked for, the... going slow, drawing things out, in my experience that can get...” He took a moment to fish for the word. “...I’ll go with _intense_. So, I’d feel a bit more comfortable knowing you’d have a quick out if things got too much.”

 

Scout considered that. “...Okay. What, uh, what kind of safe word? What would it be? Can it just be anything?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Scout hummed. “How about, uh—how about... fuck. I’m blanking. Maybe, like...”

 

A pause as Sniper let him think. Suddenly, Scout laughed a little.

 

“How about “sour apple”?” Scout asked, tone lighter now.

 

Sniper laughed a little himself. “Perfect. Sour apple it is,” he said, a little teasingly. “Mind if I set in now?”

 

Scout just tilted his legs apart a bit, mirth clearly fading.

 

Sniper set to work, maybe with more care than was strictly necessary given the fact that just two days prior he’d played with Scout as the other man jerked him off. But as he kept reminding himself, the night was about being slow, patient. Sweet.

 

Sweet, he thought to himself, looking over Scout. His face and chest were hidden behind the pillow, so he couldn’t exactly kiss and lick and nibble at him there the way he often did in the course of foreplay. Instead, he leaned down and laid a kiss on one of Scout’s forearms where it looped over the pillow.

 

“There’s a love,” he murmured, similarly to how he murmured to himself at work, albeit much gentler, as he felt Scout’s muscles relax under his fingers as he worked them in steady little rolls, both consciously and involuntarily untensing. He kissed again, and again, working into a slight rhythm. “You’re bloody good at this, aren’t you? A damn natural.”

 

Scout’s arms shifted, pulling the pillow up just slightly, but he was silent.

 

“Oh, c’mon there darl’, you’re really holding back all those pretty little noises from me?” he practically purred, free hand migrating just a bit further up his thigh, just a bit further. A twist of the wrist of the hand buried in Scout, a curl of fingers, and he earned the softest little bitten-off noise, muffled into the pillow. “There it is. Gorgeous. Go on, give us another.”

 

Scout mumbled a little “no”, clearly embarrassed.

 

“Well don’t be shy, sweet’eart,” he tsk’d. “I’ll be hearing more in a bit anyways. Just let go.”

 

He rubbed his thumb over the underside of Scout’s cockhead, grinning at the way it jumped, the little gasp of a noise that Scout released, rising into a moan when he kept at it.

 

“Lovely. Just aces, love, really,” he teased, and kissed his forearm again, slowing the roll of his fingers.

 

Scout made a sound that might’ve been a plead, and Sniper grinned.

 

“Hmm, not sure what you’re begging for,” he sighed. “After all, wasn’t it you who asked me to draw things out? Drag this on and on until you couldn’t hardly take it anymore?”

 

Another noise, maybe a protest, maybe just a moan. But Scout didn’t pull his face away from the pillow to use his words, so Sniper deduced that it couldn’t have been terribly serious. His suspicions were confirmed when, not even a few moments later, Scout rolled his hips, up into the hand Sniper had on his dick.

 

Sniper removed the hand from his dick entirely, drinking in the whine Scout gave in return. “Don’t want you popping too soon, do we, love?” he asked faux-patiently.

 

Scout whined again.

 

He kept the motions up, and occasionally glanced at the clock. Drawn out, slow. Patient. Motions largely unchanging, rhythm steady. He focused on that, and time seemed to pass bit quickly and unbearably slowly. At roughly the fifteen minute mark, Sniper’s hand was starting to cramp and ache a bit from the constant, subtle motions, and Scout was a downright mess. The noises coming from his mouth came in a stream, all but uninterrupted, and eventually unmuffled as he pulled the pillow down enough to presumably breathe a bit better. He was covered in a layer of sweat, and several reapplications’ worth of lube slicked his thighs and ass. His knees trembled lightly where they’d clamped against Sniper’s shoulders, and Sniper made soft, soothing noises, petting at the outside of his thigh.

 

“Snipes, I’m gonna go fuckin’ crazy, please,” Scout choked, breath quick, shortly after Sniper noted the fifteen minutes. “C’mon. C’mon, please.”

 

“You’re close?” he asked, eyebrows ticking up.

 

“No, I’m—fuckin’ _c’mon_ , I—“ A particular twist of his fingers, a shuddering breath, Scout pushing the pillow off to one side so he could look Sniper in the eye. His face was flushed, his eyes glistening. “I w—I fuckin’ want you, c’mon, I’m gonna lose my mind, please just— _please—_ “

 

Sniper cut him off with a firm kiss on the lips, the angle of the lean admittedly awkward when he was still knuckles-deep, but it was worth it to feel Scout’s moan thrum across his skin where their chests pressed together, to feel Scout’s arms fly up around his shoulders with an openness, an honesty, a desperation.

 

“Gorgeous,” he murmured when they parted, and pressed back in to kiss him again, to nip on his lip, to trace promises on the back of his teeth. He pulled back again only to give Scout time to breathe. “You’re bloody _gorgeous_  like this, love. If you could see yourself like this—“

 

“I don’t wanna,” Scout protested, head tipping back to break eye contact. “I dunno what you think’s so hot about me.”

 

“Everything,” Sniper breathed, and pressed back in.

 

Sniper felt and heard Scout’s whine of protest in equal measure as he pulled his fingers free, wiping off on the towel without looking. He pulled back, pulled against Scout’s arms around his shoulders, fought the instinctual urge to press together against the warm, familiar body under him as his rational mind grappled for even brief control.

 

“I need—“ he grunted, mind partially addled by Scout latching onto the skin just under his jawline and scraping against it lightly with his teeth in a mesmerizing rhythm, “—I, I need to... go get a—get a rubber, I’ve...” A groan almost of surprise as Scout rolled up against him, the other man’s thigh brushing against his previously-ignored hard-on. “Jeremy, I, I need to get up for a moment, really.”

 

A sound against Sniper’s throat, hands starting to smooth down Sniper’s back, that little roll repeated.

 

“Bugger,” Sniper choked, sinking forward just a bit for a moment before he got his wits back about him, shaking the fog from his mind. “I—I’ll be right back, awright?”

 

Scout protested again, and Sniper pressed a peck to his lips in reply before he stood and moved just far enough to get to the drawer with the condoms in it. He figured it would help make cleaning up go a bit easier, and would help him last, let him focus just a bit better.

 

He retrieved and rolled on the condom as quickly and efficiently as he could before he sank back forward over Scout, whose legs spread and arms wrapped back up around his shoulders so naturally it was as if he was designed to be there. Another kiss, more lingeringly, more deliberately.

 

“Slow, yeah?” he murmured, face pulled back only a couple inches from Scout’s. It was partially in confirmation, partially as a self-reminder, and seemed to drag some sense into Scout’s head.

 

“Yeah,” he replied, practically just an exhale in how quiet his voice was. “Slow.”

 

“Slow,” Sniper repeated, and took a steadying breath and nodded to himself. “Right.”

 

He lined himself up with one hand, pulled back slicked on even more lube than the condom already had just to be safe, lined up again.

 

Slow. He could handle slow.

 

He started to push in, and he and Scout choked on air in the same moment.

 

...Maybe slow would be a little more difficult than he’d first thought, but, no, he could do slow. Slow and steady. He just needed to focus.

 

The smallest little rolls, the most teasing, mind-bogglingly careful rolls, until he was seated fully, until he could shift his knees and his weight forward, pull up one of Scout’s thighs where it had started to sag down his waist, the other man’s head thrown back in ecstasy, arms much looser. A few breaths to steady himself, a few long moments to make absolutely sure that Scout had adjusted, and wasn’t feeling any discomfort. Nearly twenty minutes of foreplay had done wonders, it seemed.

 

“There you are, there’s a beauty,” Sniper breathed, and kissed a line beneath Scout’s collarbone as he felt him rapidly relaxing. “You’re awright, there you go. Gorgeous, love.”

 

Scout’s eyes squeezed shut tight, and his voice was wobbly when he spoke. “Mundy?” he asked, so very quietly.

 

“Yeah?” Sniper asked back, his own voice gentling.

 

“I’m...” A shaking breath, another. “I’m good, I’m ready, I n—I want—please just move, I...”

 

“Easy, s’alright,” Sniper murmured against Scout’s chest, and kissed lightly once, twice. “I’ve got you.”

 

A hand on Scout’s hip, the barest push, and a pull, and Sniper faded into a rhythm.

 

It was as slow as he could physically force himself to go, the barest movement, the most teasing of sensations, and it rapidly drove the breath from his lungs, the sense from his mind. Scout’s breath hitched beneath him, and instead of the roaring hunger in his gut and chest and mind, he focused on lying more kisses across Scout’s skin.

 

He had freckles, dozens of them, all across his shoulders and chest and arms and face, and Sniper started on a trail across one shoulder, kissing every last one he could see. It kept him focused, kept him steady, helped pull him into the place he generally only used on missions where he posted in a single place for hours on end. Steady. Steady.

 

He felt Scout’s dick against his stomach, practically throbbing, slick against the hair on his (and to a lesser degree, Scout’s) loser abdomen.

 

He kissed. He rocked. He breathed.

 

It didn’t take too terribly long before Scout was rocking along with his rhythm, breath kicking up, something like urgency in his motions. Sniper pulled his lips away just slightly, shifted a hand down to his hip, not pressing or applying pressure, just resting there. Scout stopped moving aside from his chest’s even rising and falling. “Easy, love,” he whispered, voice already sandy. “I’ll take care of you.”

 

A deeper inhale and exhale. “Okay,” he managed.

 

Sniper continued his rhythm.

 

Scout’s other shoulder’s worth of freckles were done. He moved up just a bit, laid a kiss against Scout’s adam’s apple. It bobbed beneath his lips in a sudden swallow, and he followed it down, back up, with a series of smaller rapid-fire kisses, holding back a smile.

 

“Fuck,” Scout choked out. “D-don’t look at me.”

 

Sniper pulled back a millimeter, surprised, little smile falling away. Tried to find words, to surface from the fog he was fading into. “What? Why?” he asked, voice surprisingly gentle.

 

“I’m—“ He tilted his head back, then to one side. “I’m a fuckin’ mess. I don’t want... for, for you to see me like this,” he croaked.

 

Sniper’s hand drifted up Scout’s side carefully, cupped over his ribcage. “Jeremy, it’s awright. It’s just me,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

 

A shiver of an inhale, a shaking exhale. “Just, please kiss me?” he asked, and Sniper didn’t hesitate for even a moment, surging up to kiss him square on the lips, practically stealing the breath from his lungs.

 

Through the haze, Sniper couldn’t quite parse out what felt so odd, not until a few moments later. But the moment he realized, his eyes practically snapped open, and he pulled back enough to double check.

 

Scout’s cheeks were damp, in a way that wasn’t like the usual general sweat, and his eyelashes were clumped together and wet where his eyes stayed pressed closed.

 

Sniper brought a hand up to cup Scout’s cheek, immediate worry pulling at him. “Love, are you—are you okay?” he panted. He hadn’t said the safe word, hadn’t even said to slow down, Sniper would’ve noticed if he’d said to slow down, right—?

 

Scout pulled on Sniper’s shoulders, lifted himself up to kiss him again in reply. “Please don’t stop,” he all but whimpered when he parted for only a moment, and pressed back in again, making a soft noise as Sniper hesitantly returned to the previous rhythm.

 

He only had so much self-control, admittedly. Eventually it slipped, and his motions kicked up a notch, prompting an involuntary groan from his own chest and a moan from Scout, who fell back against the mattress again, neck arching. Sniper pressed in to nip against his pulse point, sucking in apology, starting to kiss him over and over and over again.

 

Another moan from Scout as his hand drifted down to adjust one thigh, pulling it higher on his waist to ever-so-slightly change the angle of his thrusts.

 

“You like that?” Sniper teased from his place just below Scout’s ear, trying to break the tension that was starting to settle between them thicker than the quilt against Sniper’s toes.

 

A shaky breath from Scout. His hands shook against Sniper’s shoulder blades. “I love it,” he gasped, voice rising a bit now, almost like a confession, an apology, a plead. “I f—I love it, I, I love it so goddamn _much_  I can’t fuckin’—“

 

A sniffle, and Scout tried to rock down against him again despite the way his rhythm stuttered, the way his breath hitched.

 

“—I, I can’t fuckin’, I can’t—“

 

Sniper felt his throat tightening, his tear ducts stinging at the crack of his voice, the way he trembled under Sniper’s hands. Sniper wrapped an arm under his lower back, pulling him impossibly closer. “It’s alright, love,” he managed to murmur, his voice scorched. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, it’s alright Jeremy, you’re alright.”

 

A shaky inhale, a whine on the exhale, except it wasn’t a whine, it was much closer to a sob, and Scout was clinging to him so terribly desperately that it hurt, both the way his fingernails dig into Sniper’s skin and somewhere deeper, somewhere beneath his ribcage between his lungs. “I love it, I love what you do to me, I love every fuckin’—time I’m in here with you, what you say to me, everything, I love it, I love it so _much_ —fuck, _fuck_ —“

 

He was shaking hard, like he was freshly dunked in a bucket of ice water, like he was laid bare on the tundra, and Sniper had to squeeze his eyes shut tightly to combat the way they burned with each sobbing exhale, with each word that tore itself from Scout’s mouth. They felt raw in a way that Sniper had only ever heard on the roof, what must’ve been a hundred years ago, and a hundred light-years away.

 

“Mundy,” he gasped suddenly, an interruption in his train of thought, nails digging just slightly harder, and Sniper wasn’t sure if he was bleeding or not. It felt distant, far away from the feeling of trembling, from the tension in Scout’s voice. “I’m—are you—“

 

“Close?” Sniper finished for him, an exaltation and realization in one. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m...” He couldn’t get the breath back to end that sentence, and instead picked the pace up only slightly. How long had they been there? He couldn’t tell, could only reach between them, wrap a hand around Scout and pump slowly, almost clumsily.

 

However long of foreplay, of dragging things out, of everything, made orgasm hit him hard, harder than he could ever remember. It rocked through him, through his core, the tightness in his muscles bordering on painful, and his thrusts kicked up in pace despite him. It roared, and roared.

 

And finally he was rolling through the aftershocks, and pulled back enough to prop onto an elbow, to look at Scout. His eyes were open, his lips parted, his face shiny and red. He looked lost, terribly lost, and unbearably close, and it made Sniper shift his arm, cup his cheek lightly. “C’mon, love,” he encouraged breathlessly, heart still hammering, head still spinning, trying his best to muster a smile, to keep up some kind of motion with his hips. “C’mon. For me?”

 

A half-gasp, eyes fluttering shut, a tension, a silence, and a keen.

 

Scout seemed to get hit just as hard, making a litany of noises as he shook and jerked, muscles and expression screwed up tightly. Even through the afterglow, the pain of the nails digging into his back was starting to settle into place, but he managed to bite back a reaction to it. Just kept up the motion of his hand between them, even as he slowed his hips.

 

A shudder, and Scout’s legs dropped from his hips, arms loosening on his back, grip disengaging.

 

Sniper also disengaged, shivering minutely at the sensation, and he carefully, carefully laid himself out next to Scout. He winced at a series of sensations, of the sting where Scout had dragged nails against him, of the ache in his legs where he’d held one position for far too long, of the condom sitting awkwardly against sensitive skin, of the pound in his head where slight dehydration and a still-quick heart rate were vying for his attention.

 

He worked past all of those sensations quickly, instead finding two points of focus. The first was that, now that the motion had stilled, the room was chilly. He pulled first a towel over their waists, then worked the quilt by their feet up to their shoulders. The second focus was on the fact that Scout was still shaken, stillshuddering and sniffling, and tried to turn his face away from Sniper, to hide—as if there was anything left to hide.

 

But...

 

Sniper wrapped an arm around under Scout’s arms, hauling him close, letting their legs tangle freely as he pulled him in. For a moment he drifted, couldn’t decide what exactly he even wanted to do, and he settled on pressing their foreheads together, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

But...

 

They stung. They did. Maybe because he’d glimpsed Scout’s expression, and he looked even more lost than before.

 

But...

 

“I’m sorry,” Scout said.

 

But...

 

Sniper could feel his heartbeat slowing back down, steadily with each breath he took. And at the same time, he could feel the pieces coming together in his mind. The reasons. The explanation.

 

“I’m really sorry,” Scout said, and Sniper looked at him with eyes that understood what he actually meant, and he inhaled.

 

“Scout, what was it that you wanted to tell me all those times?” he asked in a whisper with a dry throat, knowing the answer almost entirely.

 

Scout blinked, not in surprise.

 

“All those times. You said you’d tell me later,” Sniper elaborated. He reached up, and brushed away one of the tears clinging to Scout’s cheek, where it lingered magnifying one freckle in particular. “Tell me now.”

 

Scout blinked again. “You’re gonna hate me,” he said, not a question, not even an ounce of doubt.

 

“Or I won’t,” Sniper suggested right back easily.

 

Scout looked at him, looked at him. Closed his eyes, leaned forward, and tried to kiss him. He missed—landed on the corner of Sniper’s mouth, corrected. It was chaste, like the beginning of the night, but all the more painful. As if... as if Scout was trying to say goodbye.

 

And then, “I’m in love with you,” Scout said, before he’d even properly pulled away.

 

Silence. Stillness.

 

After a few seconds of silence, Scout opened his eyes. Sniper wasn’t entirely certain what his own expression was.

 

“How long?” Sniper asked, voice just a tight rasp.

 

Scout looked at his lips as he spoke, then back up again to answer. “Months,” he replied, voice dull. “Longer. Not long after we... started doin’ this in the first place.”

 

All that time. _All_  that time.

 

“And I know, you didn’t want this to be... feelings, you said friends with benefits, you said no strings attached. I know. I couldn’t help it. I’m in love with you,” Scout continued. “And you don’t love me that, and you’re gonna cut this whole thing short now—“

 

“How are you so sure?”

 

Scout looked at him, and blinked in surprise a long moment later, a delayed reaction. “What?”

 

“I said, how are you so sure? You haven’t even asked me,” Sniper repeated.

 

Scout stared. Stared. “What?”

 

“I mean, _ask me_ ,” Sniper said, emphasized.

 

Scout slowly, slowly reached a hand up, laid it shakingly over the one Sniper had cupping his face. The fear was back. “Do... do you love me, Mundy?” he asked, so very, unbearably small.

 

Sniper stroked a thumb across his cheek. “I don’t know,” he said, “because I don’t think I even know you,” he said, “but I think— _if_  you’d let me know you—I think would.”

 

Scout looked at him. Looked at him.

 

“Okay,” he said. “I... I can work with that.”

 

Sniper rubbed that thumb over his cheek again, smiled. “Let me know you?” he asked.

 

“Yeah,” Scout agreed. “Keep tryin’ with me?”

 

Sniper laughed a little. “Yeah.”

 

Scout sniffled, and, for maybe the first time, really, truly relaxed. “Ha... yeah,” he said, and shortly after, he fell asleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [[no editing ever. thetriggeredhappy is my tumblr username]]


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